


I Really Wished I Hated You

by Themillenniumpeacock



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Everybody Hurts, Fluff, M/M, Mysterio - Freeform, Oop things get physical, PTSD, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Some bad feels, Spider Man - Freeform, let’s see how this goes, lots of panicking., peter has A Bad Time, spiderio, then Quentin does too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-01-29 08:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21407362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themillenniumpeacock/pseuds/Themillenniumpeacock
Summary: Peter abruptly got out of bed, pulling on yesterday’s jeans and grabbing the first hoodie that was crumbled on a nearby chair along with his old school bag, then quietly snuck out of his room and down the long hall lined with doors that lead to the other residents of the Headquarters. He wasn’t sure where he was going or how he was going to get there, but Peter knew he needed to move. The mourning of Mr. Stark, the loneliness of being outed as a superhero, and the unexpected burning guilt for accidentally killing Quentin Beck was beginning to be too much for him. Especially that he should be feeling any remorse over Beck.‘He tried to kill me first. Twice!’ Peter thought bitterly. ‘It’s not my fault he got in the way of his own drones…’***************************
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 107
Kudos: 255





	1. Chapter 1

_ “Peter?” _

_ _

Peter whipped around, staring into the darkness behind him. He knew that voice, and the last thing he needed was for the man behind it to find him again. 

“ _ C’mon, you can trust me, Peter,” _

Peter tried backing away, but his feet felt as if they were moving through water and he couldn’t get them to obey fast enough. Through the darkness Peter saw thin tendrils of green luminescent smoke beginning to creep their way towards him. He knew he needed to turn and run, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the spot he knew that  _ he  _ would appear from. 

“ _ Gotcha _ ,”

The voice whispered right in Peter’s ear as two hands seized his neck from behind. Peter gasped as the fingers dug into his skin and then yanked him backwards hard. Suddenly, Peter felt himself free falling while  _ his  _ laughter rang in his head. He kept falling, the laughing getting unbearably loud until-

Peter jerked awake, nearly falling out of his bed in the process. Breathing in shallow gasps as he wiped his hair out of his eyes, he realized he was drenched in sweat, despite it being the middle of January in New York. Beginning to calm he sat up against the wall next to his bed, and stared at his shaking hands in his lap. 

_ Mysterio.  _

It had been months since the man's death and his announcement revealing Spider-Man’s identity to the world. Yet every night since, his ghost had haunted Peter in his sleep. The man already took so much from him, why did he have to steal the last few hours of quiet he had? First, Him and Aunt May had had to move into the Avengers headquarters to avoid attack and harassment from the many enemies Spider-Man had gained over the past few years. Then his relationship with MJ has fizzled out, neither of them being able to handle the pressures that came with having to date a teenage superhero when everyone suddenly knew the face behind the mask. Recently he had taken the proper tests from private tutors so he could graduate highschool early and not make his entire school a potential target, which also meant the loss of nearly all social interaction. 

The choice he made in front of Mr. Stark over a year ago to be a normal teenager and just stay a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man seemed pointless now. Peter involuntarily flinched at the thought of the man.  _ Mr. Stark,  _ peter thought sadly.  _ I could really use your help again now… _

The sting of his mentors death was still painfully sharp. Then living here, in this place that he had made for the Avengers, didn’t help dull it at all. Tony Stark was everywhere in this building. Peter couldn’t turn a corner without seeing his tech or design preferences in every piece of the architecture. He had hoped being exposed to it daily would eventually numb the pain, but it seemed it did the opposite. Mr. Starks absence was highlighted everywhere and Peter rarely could escape. 

With his identity out in the public now, he wasn’t allowed to leave the facility without some sort of escort to protect him and everyday the walls were closing in tighter around him. He was used to the uniquely open spaces between New York’s buildings, swinging freely and letting his mind get lost in the maze of concrete and steel and glass. No matter what was bothering him, being free amongst the city helped bring a bit of clarity to the situation. But now he was stuck here, all of his painful memories made fresh everyday just by opening his eyes. 

Peter abruptly got out of bed, pulling on yesterday’s jeans and grabbing the first hoodie that was crumbled on a nearby chair along with his old school bag, then quietly snuck out of his room and down the long hall lined with doors that lead to the other residents of the Headquarters. He wasn’t sure where he was going or how he was going to get there, but Peter knew he needed to  _ move.  _ The mourning of Mr. Stark, the loneliness of being outed as a superhero, and the unexpected burning guilt for accidentally killing Quentin Beck was beginning to be too much for him.  _ Especially _ that he should be feeling any remorse over Beck. 

_ He tried to kill me first. Twice!  _ Peter thought bitterly.  _ It’s not my fault he got in the way of his own drones…  _ Peter had told this to himself every time the pang of guilt started to build up over Beck. It hadn’t even the first time Peter had resorted to kill or be killed; that had been when he was snapped back into existence and was facing Thanos’ armies. But something about Beck being taken out, a man who had pretended to care about him…  _ But was it all fake?  _ Peter asked him self again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that not everything out of Beck’s mouth had been a complete lie, that the man did actually sympathize with him on some level…

“ _ No,” _ Peter whispered under his breath, he was not going to start down that road of self doubt and second guessing tonight. He was already doing enough of that as it was without adding the unnecessary guilt of  _ his  _ death into it. 

Peter was crossing into one of the main foyers of the building, slipping into his hoodie when he sensed someone watching him. He quickly turned around, one arm half raised in defense, before spotting a familiar face across the room. 

Sitting in mostly darkness was Bucky Barnes, one of the regular haunts of the Headquarters. Peter had learned that after Thanos was defeated, Bucky and Sam Wilson had moved in full time, unofficially taking over for Tony Stark and Steve Rogers as the head of the Avengers. Nothing official had been said to the public, but for the residences of the Headquarters, there had been an unsaid rule about who the new leadership here was. 

“Oh, hey, Mister Barnes, I uh-”

Peter was immediately cut off with just a look from the man. 

“-sorry.  _ Bucky. _ I didn’t think anyone would be up and I was just going, going to, um-” - _ run away from all my nightmares and hopefully disappear forever,  _ Peter thought, but didn’t say out loud. He was caught red handed trying to leave when he clearly knew sneaking out in the middle of the night wasn’t allowed. He took a deep breath, about to mumble an apology and turn back when-

“You need a break. I’m I right, Parker?” Bucky interrupted his thoughts, stating the obvious. Bucky was staring at him knowingly, a small smirk on his face. 

“What, no I just-” Peter started, the lie already sounding fake.  _ No point in denying it now,  _ he thought, shoulders slumping. “Yeah, you’re right. I wanted to get out, just for a night,”

Bucky looked at him for a moment longer before pulling a tablet out of his jacket, and started punching something into it. “You’ve got a phone or something on you?” Bucky asked, not looking up at the teen. 

Peter quickly felt around in his jeans, then pulled out his cell phone from the back pocket. “Yeah, mostly charged-”

“Good. Now listen up Parker,” Bucky said, tossing the tablet onto the table next to him. “You’re supposed to stay here, under however many levels of protection this place has. Clearly you’re not planning on doing that. So, I’ve turned off the security for this door and for the window to your room. If you come back during the day though and get caught that’s your own fault. Just keep your phone on, and well, you know the numbers here in case you get into trouble. But please, get whatever you need out of your system  _ without  _ getting into trouble if you can? It’s late and I don’t really feel like going out in the snow.”

Peter took a step back, shocked that Bucky was just going to let him  _ go.  _ He even unlocked the front door for him to leave!

“Thank you, Bucky,” Peter stammered out, relief coloring his tone. “I promise I just need to think for a bit, I won’t cause trouble-”

Bucky interrupted him with a laugh. “Kid, you're the type to have trouble following you around. I doubt you’ll run into anything you can’t handle though. Get outta here before someone else wakes up,”

Peter flashed him a quick smile, not wanting to waste anymore time. He quickly turned on his heel and booked it out the front door, the frosty air hitting him immediately. He fell into a smooth run across the snow-covered lawn, quickly grabbing his web shooters from his bag and fixing them on his wrists. Within a matter of moments he had come to the main road that wound its way towards the Headquarters. Peter quickly picked his way to the top of a nearby tree, praying he wouldn’t be sitting there shivering for too long. 

And as if the universe decided to be extra kind tonight, as soon as he finished the thought Peter saw the lights of a big rig truck coming around the corner. He flipped up his hood around his head and as the truck was parallel to him, he lightly jumped from the branches and onto the trailer. He then made his was to the back of the trailer, sticking to its doors as he settled in for the ride back into New York City proper. 

The moment the first sizable building came into view, Peter was flying through the air with the flip of a wrist. The cold air was sharp in his lungs, but Peter hadn’t felt more comfortable in ages. He lazily swung from one building to the next, not thinking about where he was going, only that he was finally  _ moving.  _

He soon found himself moving towards his old home in Queens. He wondered for a moment if that was a good idea, there were too many faces that might recognize him and he hadn’t snatched a mask before he left.  _ Oh, doesn’t really matter, does it?  _ Peter realized bitterly.  _ Everyone already knows who I am…  _

Trying to shake off the thought, Peter swung himself up to the top of a skyscraper, taking a moment to peer out over the city. He hadn’t realized that he’d begun breathing hard, the cold and the lack of sleep catching up to his midnight wanderings. Checking the time, he still had a couple more hours before he really needed to start making his way back to headquarters, and Peter wanted to make sure he didn’t waste any of it. 

Taking a deep breath, he flung himself off the building, the exhilaration burning away almost all of the emotional ache he’d been carrying inside. At the last moment he flicked his wrist, the new web anchor launching him back up and away from the asphalt below him and towards the skyline again. He slowly began challenging himself, wanting to see if he still had it _ .  _ He tried maneuvering tight turns, sometimes giving himself mere inches between his body and a building before flipping around to seeing how quick he was thinking in the moment, trying to let instinct take over so his mind would be quiet for once. 

After a very near miss, almost colliding with a giant neon advertisement that just barely clipped his knee on the sharp corner of it, Peter decided to take a moment and get his bearings. He was making his way to the top of an office building when he felt it. That odd sixth sense that sometimes itched at his mind, pulling him in one direction or another. His  _ Spidey Sense,  _ or as Aunt May had unceremoniously dubbed it, his _ Peter Tingle…  _ It usually meant danger was near, and Peter wasn’t about to ignore it. 

He took a look around his surroundings, trying to pinpoint what could be setting it off. As his eyes scanned over building after building, suddenly one stood out to his sense. Peter cautiously swung over to the nondescript apartment high rise, settling on one of the higher levels fire escape. Silently, be began to creep down the metal balconies, pausing at each floor to see if anything stood out. The majority of the rooms were dark, whatever residents inside asleep or gone. Then out of nowhere, his sense peaked, the hairs on his arms standing in warning. As carefully as he was capable, he crept down the side of the escape to peek into the room below, hoping that whatever was there wasn’t waiting for him. 

As the window came into view, Peter saw a well lit living area. It was an open space, with a long leather couch set before a low table. Peter could just make out the large television in the wall opposite, something flickering on it’s screen. On the wall to the right of the couch, there seemed to be a long work bench set up, with various tools and mechanisms set across its surface. 

Peter dared to stretch down a little further, to see into the room behind the living room. He adjusted himself so he could see into what was a neat modern kitchen, where someone was currently hidden behind an open refrigerator door. Peter felt his body tense.  _ This  _ was the person that had set off his tingle. Whoever it was though, Peter couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity in them.  _ Maybe it was an old criminal I had a run in with, now loose again _ , he thought, as he attempted to patiently wait for the person to close the fridge door. Just as his curiosity was about to get the better of him, the fridge door swung shut. 

Peter nearly fell from his perch. His head was suddenly swimming in pain and hate, dizzy from the sudden shock and confusion at the person standing below him.  _ It can’t be him,  _ he thought, holding on tightly to the fire escape, terrified that he might actually pass out.  _ He’s dead he can’t be here it’s not possible! _

Peter shut his eyes tightly, willing for everything he’d just seen to disappear.  _ It’s not him, it’s not him,  _ he thought over and over desperately, before opening his eyes again. There the man was, now sitting at his work bench, tinkering with something small in his hands. 

Quentin Beck was here, in New York, very much alive


	2. Chapter 2

He ended up sitting there for over two hours. Just watching Beck. 

It had taken a significantly longer amount of time than Peter would’ve thought to calm down from the shock of his discovery. His heart had refused to slow down from beating in overdrive, and his hands had been shaking so hard he’d bent the metal railing he’d been clinging to into an incredibly unnatural shape.  _ You need to move,  _ he told himself, desperate to run but also unwilling to leave.  _ The mans too smart, he’s got to have security everywhere. You’re going to get caught! _

Peter shook his head, forcing his body into action.  _ I just need a better vantage point, I’m  _ not _ going to run from him.  _ When he finally released his hold on the railing, his fingers ached, his grip had been so intense. He tore his eyes away from Beck, who was still just sitting at the workbench, hunched over his work. Peter looked around, trying to find the next best vantage point.  _ There,  _ he thought as he spotted a balcony across the way. It was covered with long vined plants that hung over and below the railing, the half dead foliage offering the perfect cover. Peter quietly thwiped over, settling in on the underside of the balcony, hanging upside down and peering back into Beck’s apartment. He couldn’t see nearly as well from across the street, but Beck was still there, barely moving, his back towards the window and Peter. 

Over two uneventful hours later, Peter watched as Beck stretched his arms and back, before finishing the last of his drink. When the man stood up from his chair and turned towards the window, Peter thought his heart would stop entirely, fearing that Beck had discovered Peter watching him. But Beck only walked back toward the kitchen, putting his glass in the sink, then flipped off the lights before disappearing into another room. 

Peter let out a shaky breath, unaware that he’d been holding it in. He suddenly realized he was shivering and nearly frozen from sitting out in the cold all night with only jeans and a hoodie for protection.  _ Gotta move gotta move,  _ he thought, knowing he needed to warm up quickly. He pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the time, and realized he already should’ve been headed back to headquarters. He groaned under his breath, his whole body now stiff, as he got ready to leave. He looked back to the now dark apartment, his mind torn on what to do.  _ Do I just leave? Come back with back-up to arrest him? Will he still be here? _

_ He’d be here _ , Peter convinced himself, forcing himself to go. He knew he was too tired to take the man in himself, even if he had the advantage of surprise. He didn’t have his suit, he couldn’t stop shivering from the cold, and, though he could barely admit it to himself, seeing Beck alive again had left him shaken. He was angry, more angry than he’d ever been. That was the man that had taken what small bit of normalcy had been left in his life and Beck had thrown it all out. He should be punished for-

“ _ No _ ,” Peter told himself firmly. “That’s not your job. Go back, tell Bucky and the others and they’ll sort him out.”

With one last look into the dark room, Peter finally left, hurrying back towards the edge of the city. He needed to hitch a ride back to headquarters and figure things out before Beck could disappear. The man couldn’t be allowed to just live like some innocent person after what he did. If peter had to hide, why didn’t Beck?

Time was passing too quickly when Headquarters came back into view. He nimbly jumped down from the van he’d hitched to and started booking it back towards his building. The sun was already fully out from the horizon and at any second the residents inside could be waking and moving. There was a real chance people were already up. The second he was in range, Peter webbed up to the window that lead into his room, and quietly slid the glass open, praying that the alarms Bucky had taken down were still off. Gingerly he climbed inside, listening for any signs that he’d been caught. He closed the window silently, carefully dropping his bag on the ground, listening intently. No alarms or bells going off, no one running towards his room, nobody was knocking on the door. He’d made it. 

Peter then collapsed on his bed, physically and mentally drained. As he pulled the blankets up over his head to block out the light, he suddenly questioned himself.  _ Wait, why did I sneak back in? I need to tell everyone about Beck! _

Peter stilled, conflicted. Beck needed to be dealt with, there was no doubt there. But now that Peter was back here, he didn’t want to invoked the entirety of the Avengers.  _ He _ wanted to be the one that brought him in. Deep inside, Peter wanted to prove he could. He was realizing what the facts were; Beck was alive, and here, which meant Peter had  _ failed.  _ He was the one that turned Becks body over to SHIELD. He had felt and heard that his heart had  _ stopped. How in hell did Beck pull that off?  _ Peter questioned. 

_ I’ll find out,  _ Peter promised himself,  _ and I don’t need everyone’s else’s help to do it.  _

Decision made, Peter curled himself up tightly in his bed, and quickly passed out. 

*****

When Peter finally poked his head out from under the covers, it was clear from the sun shining in through his window that midday had come and gone and the afternoon was starting to slip away already. Stretching out his stiff back, he sat up in bed, peering around the room. At some point someone had dropped off a meal, leaving it wrapped up on his desk next to the door. He smiled, thankful that whoever it was had let him sleep. He couldn’t remember the last time he slept this long without some sort of night terror waking him. 

After a quick shower and pulling on a fresh set of clothes, Peter settled down at his desk, pulling the wrapped sandwich towards him and flipping on his laptop. He casually scrolled through his emails, absently eating away while double checking his class syllabuses to make sure he hadn’t forgotten to turn anything in before the new week started, trying to ignore the nagging thought of Beck in the back of his mind. 

Since graduating High School early, Peter had enrolled in an online college, needing to fill all the free time he suddenly had since he wasn’t out doing much super hero-ing these days. After he made sure his school responsibilities were taken care of, he opened a new window, and typed two words into the search bar.

“Quentin Beck,” He said quietly, then hit the enter key. This hadn’t been the first time he’d researched the man, but it couldn’t hurt to refresh his memory. Scrolling through the information, a frown formed on Peters face. Turned out, it  _ did  _ hurt reading through this again. And it wasn’t necessarily what was there, but the information that was clearly  _ missing _ . Peter knew Beck had worked for Stark Industries, he had actually been the genius behind the Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing System, unbelievably advanced Holographic tech. After doing some digging, Peter had found out that Mister Stark had all but claimed the technology as his, and during its first debut he had made it into something of a joke. He knew better than to think his hero was flawless, but this fact disturbed Peter greatly. 

“No wonder he went off,” Peter said to himself, continuing to click through the various pages of the Star Industries page. “...He was completely erased from the company once he was fired…”

Switching gears, Peter logged onto the secure Avengers Information Files. He’d discovered a few months back that after being given EDITH, he had also been given access to what he believed was the entirety of the Avengers classified records. He didn’t like to just go and browse through them, feeling it was still a bit awkward to just go through everyone’s personal information on a whim, but this was for a purpose. Within moments he had the small file up on Quentin Beck. Taking a bite out of his sandwich he skimmed through, trying to determine what was relevant to peter now. An address caught his eye, and after checking a map, Peter was sure this was the apartment he had found Beck in. Turns out he owned the place, a condominium actually, paid for in full just before he was let go. The owners name on the deed had been changed a few years back, but Peter suspected that was to help with the Mysterio illusion in case Fury had actually done his job. 

Peter started taking another bite when something caught his eye: Beck’s termination papers. Sandwich half hanging out of his mouth he read through the brief explanation provided:  _ persistent outbursts of anger, deemed to be too unstable for current work environment.  _

And that was it. 

Peter rapidly scanned through the rest of Beck’s work records, looking for any other prior instances of causing trouble. Any write-ups or suspensions, something to indicate that he had been a long term problem. But there was  _ nothing.  _

Brow furrowed Peter clicked back to Beck’s termination papers, his heart dropping when he found what he was looking for. Tony Stark himself had ordered him fired. It was signed right there, clear as day. Peter found himself incredibly uncomfortable with this new knowledge.  _ Tony had requested this? Right after he had mocked Beck’s contributions to his company? _

Snapping out of it, Peter shook his head, forcing himself to finish his food to try and settle his anxiety. 

“Mister Stark wouldn’t have done that without a good reason,” Peter concluded. “Beck had a gun to my head in London. Blameless victims don’t do that…”

Still not feeling overly confident, Peter leaned back in his chair, wondering what to do next. Thinking about Beck made him feel all out of sorts now, and he was completely unable to get the man out of his head.

_ I guess I could go and see what he’s up to,  _ Peter thought while staring up at the ceiling.  _ He was working on something in his condo. I could always take him down before he really starts on something dangerous…  _

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Old habits kicked in and he immediately moved to close his laptop and hide the evidence of his hero suit, and he was halfway across the room before he realized that none of that was necessary here. Everyone knew who he was. 

He turned and went to open the door, trying to appear calm and not like he was a fourteen year old kid trying to hide his secrets all over again. On the other side waiting expectantly was Bucky, a small smirk on his face. 

“Oh hey, Mis-I mean Bucky-” Peter started awkwardly. “What’s up?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. 

“So, last night wasn’t a disaster, I take it?” Bucky asked, looking over Peter. “No trouble?”

Peter shook his head quickly. Maybe too quickly. “No! I didn’t even try to look for any trouble happening, just needed to let loose for a bit. It was good. I mean, good to be out, and not-”

“Trapped.” Bucky finished for him, nodding knowingly. “Look kid, I discussed it with Sam today-”

Peter felt his heart skip a beat.  _ Are they going to cage me back up?! _

“-and we both agreed that we can’t keep you locked up here. Stark made you part of the team, right? We figured it’s only fair that you’re treated like a part of it,”

Peter watched with wide eyes as Bucky placed a small chip on his desk.  _ Is he really giving me my freedom back? _

“This is  _ not _ an active tracker,” he explained, pointing to the tech. “It’ll only ping us if it detects you’re unconscious or close to dying  _ or  _ if you tell it to track your location. May brought up the point that you are still underage and she's still your guardian, so this was her request. Your window alarms have been disabled considering your method of… travel. Any questions?”

Peter was stunned and absolutely ecstatic at the same time. In his excitement he nearly bound over and hugged the soldier, and just barely held himself back from doing just that. 

“Thank you, so much,” Peter breathed out, the thrill of being untethered taking over. “I’ll put the chip in my suit right now, I promise!”

Bucky gave him a small smile. “Don’t make me regret this, Parker. I’m not used to this leading thing yet, so don’t make one of my first executive decisions into a mistake, got it?”

“Yessir!” Peter responded immediately, already itching to take off again. 

“Stop it with that ‘sir’ stuff now, you’re making me feel old,” Bucky gave him one last appraising look before walking out and shutting the door behind him. 

“Yes!” Peter whooped out when he was sure Bucky was out of range. He could finally get back to doing what he was good at, what he really enjoyed doing!

_ And,  _ Peter thought eagerly,  _ I can go and figure out what Beck is up to.  _

Peter grabbed his spider suit from the closet and sat back at his desk, making quick work of installing the locator chip. He double checked his work before slipping it on, feeling right at home once again in the perfectly fitting suit. He grabbed his mask, pausing to appreciate the skill that had gone into making this perfect, just for him. 

He needed answers. Tony wouldn’t have fired Beck for absolutely no reason, especially after the man had just made one of the greatest advances in projection technology, right? There was more to Beck, something in his past that would prove that Mister Stark had made the right choice in dismissing him. 

He slipped on his mask, making his way to the window. The mystery surrounding Beck bothered Peter, his insides twisting up more every time he thought about him. He would make sure that Beck was held accountable for everything he had done… but after Peter got some answers from him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I don’t know how I was able to post an update this quickly, and I doubt I’ll keep up at this speed so I apologize in advanced for the high bar I set myself! 
> 
> Comments and all that jazz are always appreciated and welcome :3


	3. Chapter 3

“Hey EDITH?” Peter quietly asked, as he perched himself once again under the vine covered balcony across from Beck’s place. Peter still felt awkward talking to the augmented system built into his suit. And he actually had felt incredibly bad when he had integrated the EDITH program in his suit and it had overridden Karen, his old interfacing program. But the advantages of having both technologies as his disposal was definitely worth the cost of guilt over an artificial voice. 

“ _ Hello, Peter,” _ the feminine voice replied smoothly, as the lenses in his mask illuminated in a soft blue hue. “ _ How can I help you? _ ”

“Can you scan can the room across from me? See if there’s any security cameras, motion sensors, heat signature detectors? Anything that would tip Beck off to any intruders?”

“ _ Of course Peter. One moment _ .” EDITH replied. 

Peter idly watched EDITHs scans as he peered into the Beck’s room. The television was on again, but Peter couldn’t see Beck anywhere.  _ Could be in his room,  _ Peter reasoned, making a mental note to see if there was a window that looked into his bedroom once EDITH was done. 

“Can’t let him surprise me,” he whispered, frowning at Beck’s absence. Peter couldn’t figure out what he was up to if he couldn’t  _ see  _ him. His stomach twisted up again, not sure if he was more uncomfortable not seeing Beck, or knowing that eventually he would see him again… 

“ _ Peter _ ,” EDITH chimed. “ _ I’ve completed the analysis of the building, room number 833 in particular _ .”

Peter watched as the room across from him was highlighted in bright blue, with each feature lighting up in red when EDITH pointed it out.

“ _ The main entrance has a security camera placed outside the door, in the hallway, in the elevator and in the emergency stairwell. It is wirelessly linked to a monitor in room 833. _ ”

“Explains why the TV is always on,” Peter commented, zooming in to the screen in the room. Sure enough, it was displaying multiple views of the inside of the building. 

“ _ There is also pressure sensors on the west and south side windows, these are hardwired to silent alarm located in the main room. That alarm is linked wireless to a personal monitoring device, currently located in the rooms sole restroom.” _

Peter scanned the room’s layout, quickly locating the bathroom. “EDITH, can you scan the room, for any people?”

Immediately a body was suddenly highlighted in deep purple.  _ There he is.  _

“ _ Peters, it appears as though Quentin Beck is currently present in the building. He has been labeled as deceased in my system. Should I change that and alert Headquarters so he can be detained?” _

“No!” Peter nearly shouted. Cursing himself he quieted. “No, don’t tell the Avengers. I want to see what he’s up to first. Okay, is there any other security measures I should know-”

Peter was cut off by the door to the bathroom opening up in the hallway and Beck stepping out. His whole body tensed up at the sight of the man.  _ He doesn’t even look dangerous, he’s just wearing sweatpants!  _ Peter berated himself, he shouldn’t be reacting like this to a man that clearly just got out of the shower.  _ Beck can’t hurt me right now... _

Peter shook his head. “C’mon, focus _ ,  _ you’re here to watch him,” he whispered to himself, not needing to get distracted by his own insecurities. He had a job to do. 

“ _ There are no other security protocols in place , Peter, _ ” EDITH chimed, interrupting Peter’s thoughts. “ _ But there are two handguns located here. One in the bedroom, the other under the desk in the main living room.” _

“Alright then, good to know,” Peter said, his mind back on task. 

Peter sat perched there all night, watching Beck. He had made himself a late dinner, sat and watched a movie, then went back to working on whatever was on his workbench. EDITH had scanned the materials, but nothing was outright suspicious. They could’ve been used for any basic tech project. Just a collection of welding tools, wires, chips and a handful of lenses. Nothing to indicate what exactly he'd been working on. There was a small flash drive that Beck kept nearby, but since it had no Bluetooth or wireless capabilities, EDITH couldn’t scan it for its contents. 

“Well this was a bust,” Peter sighed, frustrated. The sun was starting to peek out from the horizon and his time here was up. He had to leave well before he could be spotted in the area. The last thing Peter needed was for Beck to find out he was active again so close to his hideout. He wouldn’t put it past Beck to disappear at the first whisper of ‘Spider-Man’. 

“Hey Dronie,” Peter whispered, immediately activating the tiny flying spider drone that was built into his suit. “Can you stick around here, just observe from a distance. See what Quentin Beck does, watch if he leaves the building at all. Just, keep out of sight, this guy is too smart to be followed easily, got it?”

The tiny drone flew itself over to Beck’s room, landing on the fire escape where Peter had initially spotted the man yesterday. Leaving the drone would have to do for now if he wanted to keep his presence a secret still. Stomach still in a knot from watching his would be killer all night, Peter slowly crept up and over the building. 

“See you tonight, Beck,” Peter whispered, taking one last look at the still illuminated room far below him. 

And peter did see him that night. And the night after that. And the night after that. 

“God this guy is more boring than me,” Peter said impatiently, watching as Beck went to put whatever dinner he had made into the oven. The man had done  _ nothing.  _ He cooked, he ate, he watches movies, and he constantly worked on whatever mystery tech he had all in pieces. 

Even his drone hadn’t been able to record much more. Beck mostly slept during the day, worked out in his bedroom, and had all his groceries delivered. He hadn’t left the building once. He had the same routine every day and every night. The most interesting thing Beck did the past five days was when he burned himself while welding two small pieces of metal together. Beck had thrown his project across the desk and nearly fell over backwards. It was petty, but Peter did get the smallest bit of satisfaction from it. 

But that was last night. Tonight, Beck was once again at work on his mystery project. Whatever it was had become a small box, petite enough to easily fit in Peter’s hand. He watched Beck intently, trying to see what the man was doing with the thin disks of glass he was currently focusing on installing. 

_ For being such a big man,  _ Peter mused,  _ he can really make something really delicate.  _ Beck was holding the thinnest piece of glass, so thin it looked barely thicker than a sheet of paper, and installing it into the mechanism with his  _ bare hands.  _ Peter knew  _ he _ could do that, but he also had incredibly heightened super human senses. Peter focused in, not realizing he was holding his breath as he watched Beck gently place the lense into the device with near perfect precision. 

Peter let out a low whistle. “Well whatever he’s doing,” he whispered to himself as he readjusted his sitting position against the cold brick wall. “He’s doing it well..”

While Beck hadn’t committed any atrocities like he was hoping to catch him doing, Peter had learned a few things about him. He watched mostly older movies, and a lot of musicals. Peter even heard him singing along to them. He also had the slightest limp that Peter was positive he didn’t have before London, so he surmised it was a leftover side effect from the damage he took there. 

But Peter was also learning a couple hard truths about himself. He was still unnerved by Beck, coming back here every night had sent waves of discomfort through his mind. Just thinking about Beck set his whole body on edge. His dreams were getting more intense, more real. When Peter has awoken earlier that afternoon, it took him a solid minute to remember where he was_. _It had been months since he had last woken up with his memory faltering. Peter figured it was brought back by Beck suddenly reappearing again. He only hoped that once he was done with Beck for good then the whole mental trauma thing would also be taken care of too. 

Peter shook his head, trying to clear his mind of his anxieties. He needed to focus here, keep his head straight so he could put Beck away for good. Still a touch frustrated with himself for letting his mental guard down, Peter refocused on Beck. He was still at his desk, currently snapping on a sort of outer shell to his device. Beck then held it up to the light, examining it slowly. 

“What is it though?” Peter whispered to himself, now more curious than suspicious about this small, boxy complicated contraption that Beck had put together. Most people had to use machines for such intricate work and yet here Beck was, doing it all by hand.  _ He could’ve been so much more,  _ Peter thought sadly,  _ if only he hadn’t fought against Mister Stark… _

_ But did he really? _ Another voice in the back of his head chimed in. Every day Peter tried digging further into everything he could find about Beck, there had to be  _ something  _ that pointed to why he had been let go so suddenly and callously. But whatever that reason was, Peter hadn’t been able to find it. Which meant that was just one more unknown fact about Beck that made Peter more uncomfortable. 

Beck then pulled Peter out of his thoughts again by carefully setting down the device, leaning back in his chair to look at it. Then the man reached over his desk, grabbing the flash drive that had been sitting in the same spot everyday since Peter has found him. Depending on the devices capabilities, he might be able to get EDITH to upload whatever information he was hiding on it.  _ This is it,  _ Peter thought excited,  _ I’ll catch you red handed and then take you in, Beck.  _

And as he really started to focus in on Beck’s every tiny movement, who was twirling the flash drive slowly in his fingers now, a sharp, loud alarm began to go off. Immediately Peter’s body was tense and coiled, ready to defend himself from any possible attack. He then saw that Beck had also been startled to his feet, the flash drive in one hand, the device held protectively against his chest. Beck seemed to understand what the alarm was as he put both items back down onto the workbench then raced across the room to his kitchen. 

_ It’s just the smoke alarm,  _ Peter berated himself. There were tendrils of black smoke coming out of Beck’s oven, whatever he had put in there had clearly been forgotten. Peter relaxed and resumed his more casual post as he watched Beck struggle to take the burned mess out of the oven and then attempt to turn off the smoke alarm. Peter did find it mildly amusing that this tech genius was having trouble with something so simple.  _ Can’t be smart with everything,  _ Peter mocked lightly in his head. 

Smoke was still filling the small kitchen, and Peter watched Beck as he abandoned the smoke alarm and fully opened up the window that he had been watching the man through this entire time.  _ Interesting.  _

“Hey EDITH, did he set off his own alarms on the windows by opening it from the inside?” Peter whispers. 

“ _ Peter, it seems that it did trip a silent alarm, connected to the device on his wrist. Quentin Beck is either ignoring it or hasn’t noticed it, _ ” EDITH quickly replied, highlighting a small touch screen that was strapped to Beck’s wrist onto Peter’s lenses. 

“Alright, the windows trip security regardless of where they’re opened from,” he noted mentally, feeling that since these night had been so uneventful he might as well be extra detailed when he found out anything of note. 

Beck had now finally gotten the shrill alarm to shut off, but the smoke still hadn’t filtered out completely. The man waved his hands around his face as he went to settle back at his work desk, looking more disheveled than Peter had yet seen him. Or, at least, since discovering he was alive again. Beck eventually sat up straight in his chair, grabbing at what he had previously abandoned. Peter leaned forward, only his toes attached to the wall behind him as he tried to stretch himself out as far as his hideout would permit. 

Taking the flash drive in one hand, Beck carefully inserted it into a port on the side of the device, causing it to softly light up beneath all the lenses. Beck turned it this way and that, closely inspecting every corner and surface. Once he seemed satisfied, he started hitting the controls that were lit up on his wrist screen. 

“EDITH, can you see what he’s doing now?” Peter was honed into the interface, but it was tilted at an angle he couldn’t make out. 

“ _ Quentin Beck appears to be uploading a large amount of data for a modified version of the Binary Augmented Retro-Framing program used at Stark Industries _ ,” EDITH answered shortly. 

“He’s remaking the illusion-tech,” Peter whispered in awe, as he watched a simple, grid covered orb suddenly illuminate around the holo-device. This must be his first test of the device, and Peter was watching it successfully run!

He shook his head, he shouldn’t be  _ excited _ that he got the tech running! This was proof that Beck had dived right back into his old habits, and he was getting ready to re-start his take over or whatever his endgame had been. He had to be taken in, this was the proof that Beck couldn’t be allowed to keep hiding in secret. 

“EDITH, I’m going to go in,” Peter started as he doubled checked that his web slingers were ready to go. “Get the tracker in my suit ready to send out the distress signal only if things go wrong, but not any sooner, okay? I want to take in this guy alone if I can. Now can you find where it would be easiest to short circuit the power in his place? I want him to be blind when I hit the floor in there and-”

Peter looked back up at Beck, who had been messing around with the holo-device’s settings. Different images were flickering in and out, jumbled pieces Peter couldn't make sense of. Beck punched something into his wrist screen, then hesitated, before hitting something with a weird motion of finality. 

When the image finally corrected itself, Peter nearly fell from the wall. He wanted to throw up and strangle the man all at once. He could feel his heart beating rapidly with fear and dread, just like it did in Berlin when Beck had him trapped in his illusions. 

Peter was looking at a perfect projection of his own face from Beck’s device, and that scared him. 

“Beck’s coming for _me_ _ , _ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry for the wait on this one-I am not a fast writer! Things are about to really start a-happenin and I’m excited for this roller coaster <3


	4. Chapter 4

For a brief moment, Peter was frozen to that wall. He was scared and alone again, paralyzed by the mere thought of Beck coming for him. Having to see those sharp teeth grinning at him like some demented wolf. To have those blue eyes be the last thing he saw before being wiped out for good. 

And then he wasn’t. 

Peter senses, already dialed up beyond what most people could handle, went into overdrive. EDITH had already highlighted into his vision what he asked for and Peter didn’t hesitate. He lined up with the open window, and shot an electrified web into the electrical socket EDITH had pointed out and once he activated the shock, the entire building lost power. In that same instant he webbed to Beck’s balcony, slinging himself inside the room and landed silently onto the hardwood behind the couch. 

Beck was already on the move too. Once the lights blacked out he had dropped his projector, Peter’s hologrammed face still visible in the darkness, and went reaching under his workbench. 

_ The gun,  _ Peter realized, as he watched from his mostly hidden position. He waited for Beck to have the gun in one hand before- 

_ THWHIPTHWIP _

-Peter webbed his hands together, the sound loud in the silent room, gun clacking uselessly against the floor. Beck had gasped in surprise when it happened, a whispered cursed leaving his lips. 

“ _ Fuck…  _ Peter, I know you’re there,” Beck called out, as he looked toward the open window. Peter knew he shouldn’t give away his position since Beck didn’t know it, but he didn’t have that much restraint for his own safety now that he was in the same room with the man that had ruined the last pieces of his normal life. 

Once he stood Beck’s face snapped to peter immediately, his eyes wide in the dark room. The only light barely illuminating the both of them was the dim glow from the projector, with Peter’s face vaguely smiling out at them. Glancing at his own projected head enraged him even more, his vision narrowed down to focus only on the man in front of him. Peter leapt over the couch, then took two long strides to stand in front of Beck. 

The man started opening his mouth, but before he could utter a single syllable Peter hit him across the face twice lighting fast, right hand then left. And hard. Harder than he would’ve done to any other person he was fighting. He didn’t care though, he was seeing red. All he knew was that Beck needed to pay for what he’d done to him, for what he’d been planning on doing to him. 

He had sat in his safe room, day after day, like a good boy and kept out of trouble because the adults were going to handle the problem. Now, Peter was done sitting and waiting like a helpless child. He wasn’t going to have someone else to deal with this problem this time. 

As Beck started to fly back toward the wall, Peter reached out and caught him by the front of his shirt. He held him at that awkward angle for a moment before throwing him roughly to the floor. 

“Kid, wait-” Beck tried to spit out, but Peter was already pulling him back up, and dragging him back to the workbench that he had spent so many nights sitting at. Peter lifted Beck up just to slam him down on the desk, the man’s face now pressed at an awkward angle against the smooth surface. Beck had hissed when his shoulder made a very unnatural crunching sound when it made contact with the very solid table. 

_ Good.  _

“Listen, Peter, this isn’t-” Beck started again, and Peter shut him up by lifting him up again, and brought him back down hard on the wood. That drew a deep groan from the man, which unexpectedly  _ angered _ Peter more. 

_ Beck didn’t know what it was like to feel real  _ hurt _ , he marched me in front of a train. Beck didn’t deserve to think that this was  _ pain _ .  _

“ _ Why?”  _ Peter managed to spit out at Beck, his voice shaking with malice. “Was trying to kill me twice not enough for you? Had to come back here to finish the job?”

“Kid, you’ve got it all wrong, just let me explain-” Beck began, trying to speak quickly. 

Peter grabbed him by the neck, pulling Beck up so he was face to face with him. He was having none of his bullshit, not anymore. 

“Then what is  _ that, _ Beck?” Peter demanded, pointing at his face being projected from the table. “Why  _ me _ ? Haven’t I had enough?”

His voice was breaking, his anger fully slipping through now. The past six months of being locked away, having to abandon his friends, his aunt never being safe again, it all came rushing to the forefront of his mind. But hitting him hardest was his stolen freedom. Peter Parker would be hunted for the rest of his life. Not even in his dreams could he escape the damage Beck had done. His mind was still trapped in the prison this monster of a man had built around it. 

Peter wrapped both of his hands around Beck’s neck, lifting him above his head, the mans feet barely brushing the floor. 

“You’ve taken  _ everything  _ from me,” Peter whispered, tears beginning to spill under his mask. “Isn’t that  _ enough _ for you, Beck?” 

Beck sputtered weakly as he attempted to answer Peter. His still webbed hands were hopelessly trying to find purchase around peters wrists, to either loosen the grip on his neck or to lessen the strain of his weight or maybe both. Peter didn’t care anymore, Beck was the powerless one now. 

A thought suddenly burned in his mind that was unpleasantly tempting,  _ I could take care of him right now, rid the world of one more villain that no one would miss.  _

Peter’s stomach twisted uncomfortably as he felt his fingers involuntarily increase the pressure around Beck’s fragile neck. The muscles under Peter’s hands were steadily giving out under the increasing tension, unable to resist his strength.

Beck was taking weak, gasping breaths, his eyes wide as he looked down at him. But Peter had made up his mind,  _ this is where things would end tonight _ . As the man made another attempt to speak, the lighting in the building flared back on, and they illuminated everything Peter had done. 

Beck’s lip had been split open, the wound bleeding freely down his chin. The skin of his right cheek had been torn in multiple spots when Peter had slammed him into his own work table. His face was pale and ashen, all the color was gone from it except for his bright blue eyes, staring down at him with a mixture of concern and resignation.  _ Beck was prepared to die.  _ That realization hit Peter right in the chest. 

He dropped Beck onto the floor, and backed away until he was against the wall and could move no further. Beck was on his elbows and knees, gulping down air. Peter could see his one shoulder wasn’t sitting in its proper place, obviously dislocated.  _ Oh god,  _ Peter thought in shock,  _ where is that blood coming from?  _ He was watching as a steady drip came down from Beck’s hairline that was becoming a fast growing puddle on the floor beneath his face. 

_ I did this.  _

_ I did this.  _

_ I did this.  _

The voice in the back of his head was small and quiet, but the reality of it was making Peter sick. This wasn’t him, how had he gotten to this point and did, did  _ this? _ Peter couldn’t breath, his chest seemed to be caving into itself. And now he could feel the edges of his mind beginning to crack, panic and dread were threatening to break him here and now. He had to  _ go.  _

Without another thought Peter hurdled himself over the couch and out of the window, and braced himself on the railing of Beck’s balcony. His lungs burned, he felt like he was suffocating and he needed air now. Peter tugged off his mask, running his free hand over his face to swipe away at the stream of tears, trying to gulp in the freezing night air.  _ I have to  _ go. 

Before he could even think to stop himself, Peter looked back at Beck.

The man had gotten himself up on his knees and had been watching Peter before he turned around. Peter saw the man's eyes go wide once he looked back, blood still slowing dripping from his hairline and lips, making him a macabre version of himself. Hands still webbed together, the once white fibers were now dotted and splattered with bright red, his chest was heaving with every breath, still trying to replenish oxygen to his body. But what made Peter regret looking back was the look of pity that Beck had painted so obviously on his face. 

Peter locked eyes with Beck. All he wants to do isthrow him out the window and be done with him, to make sure Beck can’t hurt him anymore. But the hate that should be in his heart to just take care of him isn’t there, he can’t feel it and that scares him to his core. 

He just sees a bound and broken man that was subjected to Peter’s unthinking rage. A rage that had burnt out as soon as he had seen what he was capable of. 

With shaking hands peter pulls his mask back on and leaps from the balcony, needing to be anywhere but here. Running on pure instinct he swings through the city as fast as he can, no longer caring if anyone spots him in the night. His mind is replaying every single stark detail from the apartment over in his head and Peter wants nothing more than for it to stop. He pushes himself harder - _ Beck’s blood pooling on the hardwood floor- _ and faster  _ -the dislocated shoulder Beck will have to force back in place himself _ \- the buildings and street lights blurring around him - _ I left his hands bound how is he going to stop the bleeding?-  _ until he can barely see what’s in front of him next. 

Once outside of the city he starts running towards headquarters, unable to keep still long enough to find an unsuspecting ride to take him further up the highway. He was forcing himself to his physical limits, his muscles aching and throat burning with the sharp cold air after a few minutes. But he didn’t stop or slow, the pain was a welcome distraction to his memories replaying his actions. The more pain he felt the better. He  _ deserved _ this. 

Peter was grateful he’d lost track of time once Headquarters were in view. If he didn’t know how long he’d been running that meant he also didn’t know how long it had been since since he’d left Beck bleeding on his own floor. He just had to get to his room. That’s the goal. After that he could figure out the next step. Not that he knew what that next step was towards but he could figure it out later. 

After he’d swung himself up into his room, he found he couldn’t stand on his legs anymore from how hard he’d run to get back here. His muscles burned and shook under his weight with every small step. He was just barely holding himself up, his hand stuck fast to the wall, guiding himself to the bathroom. He felt as if he could be sick any moment and didn’t want to puke all over his bed. 

Once inside the sterile white room, Peter made sure he locked the door before bracing himself on the sink, yanking his mask off. His eyes were closed tight, trying in vain to stop the tears that were still streaming down his face. 

_ How did I let it go that far?  _ Peter asked himself, unable to believe just how far he’d fallen tonight. He was supposed to be the good guy, one of the few that people could trust to do the right thing, hero meant to protect people. Instead, here he was, trying not to heave up whatever might be in his rolling stomach after beating a man who had been completely defenseless. 

_ I could’ve killed him.  _

A rough sob escaped his mouth, and he clamped a shaking hand over it. It’s not that anyone would be awake to hear his quiet cries, but he didn’t want to hear himself. He  _ couldn’t _ hear himself. He was standing on a fine thread, and the smallest thing would break it, which would then send him spiraling down. He was desperately trying to keep himself together so he could think straight and calm himself. He didn’t need a complete breakdown right now. 

After taking a few deep breaths, Peter thought he could control himself, at least for another few moments.  _ Get the suit off,  _ he thought to himself, trying to break everything he needed to do into a simple list. Make everything robotic so he could keep going. He opened his eyes, barely glancing at himself in the mirror as he went to stand up straight. 

Then he did a double take at the face that stared back at him. 

The boys face in the mirror was smeared with dried blood, broken only by the tracks his tears had left clean. His eyes were wide and rimmed with red, shock and disgust radiating from their dark depths. The boy raised a hand to his cheekbone, where the blood was caked on thickest. His fingers quivered uncontrollably as they brushed the flaking red streaks. 

_ On the balcony,  _ Peter remembered.  _ I took off my mask and I… _

Peter looked down at his hands, now seeing the fabric over his hands were stained with Beck’s blood. 

_ -No no no no NO NO NO- _

Peter was internally screaming. The evidence of his crimes painted all over his body, the truth physically shouting his weakness and failures back at him. 

He takes two steps towards his shower, turning it on to its highest and hottest setting. As he stepped under the water he could hear himself breathing shallow and fast. Peter knew he was in the beginning stages of a full blown panic attack and needed to ground himself before things got out of hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to try and stop it. His head was spinning with the reality of everything he did that night. 

Peter slid down the tiled wall until he was sitting under the high pressure stream, the racking sobs that he tried to hold back finally breaking through, whatever last means of control he had were shut down and gone. Peter stayed like that for hours, broken down and ashamed as he watched the water turn from clear to red and eventually back to clear as Beck’s blood washed down the drain. 


	5. Chapter 5

“Peter, I swear if I don’t see you downstairs in an hour for dinner I’m having someone come and forcibly remove you,” May said softly, yet very seriously, from the other side of the door. “If this is… if this like what happened after London all over again, you need  _ help.  _ I know you don’t want it, but Peter, I’m worried _ . _ This isn’t normal, and you’re scaring me..”

He let his head fall back until it hit the wall with a quiet  _ thud.  _ He’d really let himself go too far into his self loathing. If May had gotten to this point, he knew he truly hit rock bottom this time. 

“It’s okay, May,” his voice was rough.  _ Too much crying and screaming into the bed, _ he thought bitterly. “I’m sorry… I’ll be down today. I promise.”

“Do you want to talk about it, Peter?” May asked cautiously. He could hear her practically pressing her whole body against the door, willing him to let her in. 

Peter covered his face with his hands, making an effort to not groan like a whiny kid at her. “ _ No,  _ May. I’ll be down later.  _ It’s fine.” _

She was still hesitating at the door, it took her a full minute to pry herself off of it. 

“Alright, I’ll see you in an hour then. Don’t be late, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” Peter muttered back. Relieved she had finally retreated. Once the door to his bedroom closed behind her, he let his hands slide off his face, his bruised knuckles landing on the floor at his sides. 

_ “Fuck,”  _ he whispers hoarsely to himself as he opened his eyes. “I really do need help.”

Peter idly gazed around the bathroom he’d practically lived in for the past week. Normally he’d kept his space clean, if not always perfectly organized, still feeling like he was a guest in the Avengers Headquarters. But seven days of living in his own personally appointed Hell had changed his habits dramatically. 

Clothes had been scattered in the corners. Various bottles and personal hygiene products were upturned and knocked over. His spider-suit was still crumpled in a corner of the shower from when he’d finally been able to strip it off himself. He’d been unable to bring himself to put it away properly, afraid to find out if Beck’s blood had permanently stained it… 

Currently he was half buried under a pile of blankets and pillows that he had dragged off of his bed and into here. He’d been sick so many times he’d eventually gotten tired of having to run from his bed into the bathroom to dry heave for twenty minutes every couple of hours or so. Sleeping in the bathroom corner had become convenient. 

A few items were scattered on the floor closer to him. Next to him was a mostly empty glass of water and an unopened pill bottle. Sedatives, apparently. At least that’s what he was told was in it. He was given them last night after he woke from another Quentin Beck centered nightmare and had punched his way through his mirror. Then through the drywall behind it. Then nearly through the solid steel plating behind that. It had set off all sorts of alarms in the building. 

That was the first time that week they’d forced the door open to finally look at the mess he had become. 

He’d been claiming day after day that he’d been sick. Caught the flu or something while he’s been swinging around New York City in the cold. It was utter bullshit though, Peter hadn’t been sick since he got bit by that spider. His immune system was dialed up to clear out any infections or viruses before they could even consider latching onto him. 

But yesterday it became obvious to everyone that Peter wasn’t just fighting off a fever. They’d found him on the floor, sobbing, his hands broken, shards of glass from the mirror had been embedded in his skin. Peter thanked whatever gods were left out there that May had been out of state with Happy for the last three days, so she didn’t have to see first hand how bad things had become. 

They told her of course that he wasn’t sick, that he’d had a major panic attack or something. He was grateful to, he assumed Bucky, for not telling her  _ how _ they found out. After some on-hand doctor had cleaned and bandaged his hands and released him back to his room, Bucky had come and sat next to him on the floor. Not one word was exchanged between the two of them for nearly an hour, and Peter appreciated his silent understanding. Eventually he set the pill bottle down next to Peter, explained that this would help him sleep, and that he wasn’t alone here, and left. 

Peter had only briefly considered taking them. But then he wasn’t sure if regular run-of-the-mill sedatives would work on his super quick metabolized body. His next thought was if they had been manufactured specifically for him, and if they were, he was even more scared of becoming reliant on them then seeing if they’d work. He’d seen the effects of addiction before and with the state he was in he didn’t need to add another problem on top of what he was already trying to cope with. 

The middle of the bathroom had been cleaned fairly decently, considering the short amount of time they had while Peter was being looked at by the doctor. The floor had been swept clean of all the evidence of his physical outburst. Even the wall around the hole he’d punched out had been cleaned up and prepped for whenever Peter allowed them to come in and fix it properly. Not that he really wanted them to, putting a mirror back in place would mean Peter having to look at himself again. And doing that had been the catalyst for this particular loss of self control. 

For nearly two full days he had avoided sleeping, his dreams had become much worse than the thoughts he had when he was awake. Last night he’d finally succumbed to his exhaustion and drifted off against his will. 

He had been stuck inside Beck’s illusions again, being dropped through floors, the walls being spun around on him, every other minute he found himself in a new location. But this time the nightmare turned into something worse. Suddenly, Peter was the one pulling the strings on Beck, manipulating him through one torturous illusion after another, maniacally laughing at his distress. Then the nightmare Peter had followed in the real Beck’s footsteps, waiting until the right moment to push the dream Beck in front of a moving train. 

That action had startled Peter from his sleep, jumping to his feet feeling as if he was about to have to attack someone. But the only other person he saw was himself in the mirror. His pupils dilated so much that his eyes looked black and feral, his skin flushed from the adrenaline of the dream. His perpetually round baby face had begun to sink in at the cheeks from his lack of sustenance for a week, adding to the physical horror of his appearance. He looked like a starved animal, uncontrolled and wild, and Peter hated it.

He didn’t even think about what he was about to do, his hand was already through the reflective glass and then his other hand followed suit. Over and over, pummeling the wall until alarms were going off and a handful of people rushed into the room to stop him. 

Peter lifted his hands up, flexing them experimentally. The tiny bones he’d broken had healed already, as had the broken skin. Only the deep purple bruises remained as proof, and even then they’d be gone by tomorrow. 

_ If only my mind would heal this quick _ , Peter wished for about the hundredth time this week. His physical state may have adapted to heal itself, but his mental state only came with the extremely dialed up emotions of a seventeen year old kid who kept failing at every turn.

_ Stop stop stop, you've put yourself through this enough already,  _ he had to mentally berate himself.  _ Just stop thinking about  _ him _ for a couple of hours. That’s it.  _

Of course it wouldn’t be that simple. If peter could somehow not think about Quentin Beck he would’ve already been back to somewhat normal. But he kept dwelling on all that blood, his pity filled eyes, the cuts on-

“No.  _ No.”  _ Peter told himself firmly, pushing his nest of blankets off of his legs. “Not now. Time to get up.”

With a small groan, Peter picked himself off the floor, pointedly avoiding looking at the new hole in the wall as he padded over to the shower. After hesitating for a minute, Peter reluctantly picked up his suit and tossed it towards his pile of blankets, forcing himself to not look too closely at it. 

Stepping back towards the shower he turned it on to a reasonable temperature before he stripped off his clothes. But as Peter was throwing his shirt to the floor, something sharp stabbed him in the heel of his foot.

“Ow! What the-“ Peter jumper back on one foot, grabbing his damaged one in his hands. There was a shallow puncture wound there, nothing he’d have to worry about in an hour.  _ But how…?  _ Peter wondered as he spun around looking for the cause. 

Laying there in the corner where the shower met the wall was a long shard of broken mirror that had been missed by the clean up crew. Frowning, Peter picked it up, briefly looking at the tired dark eye that stared back at him. He placed it onto the short shelf above the sink, mostly to stop himself from stepping on it again. He’d deal with throwing it out later. 

Peter ducked into the shower. He stood there for a few moments, the spray of the hot water was admittedly soothing to his sore muscles. Sleeping on the tile floor was doing his body no favors. Rolling his shoulders he tried to work out the tension he wasn’t allowing himself let go of. 

Every waking moment for the past week, Peter had done nothing but dwell on what he did to Beck. Did the man deserve to face justice for the crimes he committed? Of course he did, there was no question there. But did he deserve to beaten mercilessly by teenager with inhuman strength to the point where he had accepted he was going to die? No. Even Beck with everything he did didn't deserve that kind of brutal treatment. 

Then to add to I’m his torment, Peter couldn’t figure out where he had gone so wrong. Sure, he liked to skate the rules and could get a head of himself when he got a goal set in his mind. But to nearly  _ kill  _ a man? Peter wasn’t sure that if the buildings lights hadn’t come back in time that he would’ve stopped. Not once had he ever dropped his morals to stop any human, and Beck had been defenseless, his hands webbed together by Peter himself, and yet he  _ still _ took out his anger on him.

It wasn’t something peter though he’d ever be capable of. It made him just as bad as any other villain. Worse even. Peter had powers few others could even imagine, let alone compete with. And to see what he’d done with that made him wish someone could take it all away from him. He was ashamed that he’d become the bad guy in his own story in one night. 

Sighing, Peter brushed back his sopping curls out of his face. He didn’t know how, but he’d make things right, get himself back on the right path. Tony Stark wouldn’t have trusted him with so much responsibility if he wasn’t competent enough to figure out how to solve his own issues. He’d find a way to fix Peter Parker and be the hero he expected himself to be. 

He finished up his shower, brushed his teeth, put on a clean set of clothes. It surprised him how going through these motions made him feel, well, not  _ better _ , but more normal. It was a start, at least. He even tried giving himself a once over in the now non-existent mirror.  _ Guess I’ll have to trust I look the same as I always do,  _ Peter joked to himself, looking down at his jeans, tee shirt, and zip-up sweater combo that tended to be his signature daily outfit.  _ Its not like I’ll be seeing anyone important today.  _

Peter then stood in front of his bedroom door for a very long time, trying to convince himself to just walk through it. Leaving the room meant possibly seeing everyone he’d awoken or bothered last night with his actions, and possibly being questioned by them.  _ God, what if someone told May?  _ He thought miserably, wondering how long he’d be able to keep the real reason for his current state a secret. 

Shaking his head he let out an ironic laugh. He was so ashamed of himself and what he did. Because of his silence he bet that he gave Quentin Beck the chance to escape back into the world. The man had to be a thousand miles away by now, him and his new tech safely hidden away just waiting for another opportunity to attack. And that was Peter’s fault. All because he couldn’t stand the shame of Beck telling everyone what the supposed  _ good boy _ had done to a poor, helpless, villain-in-hiding. 

He really didn’t think he could hate himself more. This had to be the peak of how much one person could royally fuck up all at once and he was too much a coward to even face the consequences of it. Instead he would be just sitting in his own disgrace until Beck or Mysterio or whatever his new persona was made an appearance and took everyone by surprise. How bad could it be? Beck only destroyed a good chunk of London last time he decided to do something  _ dramatic.  _

_ Maybe I’ll leave a note that he’s still alive then take off,  _ Peter thought, mostly joking to himself.  _ Not that I’d have any place to go. Maybe Beck’s place is empty by now, I could hide out there… _

Peter couldn’t help the small smile that curled his lips. The idea of him hiding out in Beck’s abandoned apartment was hilarious in all the wrong ways. 

That bit of humor bolstered him to face whatever was on the other side of the door. It was probably nothing more than an awkward meal in the shared public space of headquarters, so Peter really shouldn’t be stressing about it so much. He just had to make small talk for twenty minutes, stomach a few mouthfuls of food and avoid the subject of Quentin Beck entirely. He could do that. 

_ And if I accidentally tell everyone that I’m the bad guy now,  _ Peter jokes to himself in an ironic, twisted way as he grasped the handle of his door,  _ I’ll just have to see if I can force Beck to let me hide out with him.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the sporadic and unpredictable posting! Real life keeps gettin gin the way of me writing sad things happening to Peter??? But! Hope you enjoyed!! and I promise ch6 will take a turn >:3


	6. Chapter 6

_ Just two, maybe three more bites, and you’re done,  _ Peter told himself as he sat awkwardly at the round table.  _ It won’t be that weird if you only leave the plate half full. She won’t question that too much.  _

The past forty three minutes hadn’t been  _ that _ bad, but Peter was itching to find solitude again. May had thankfully avoided asking Peter what was going on in his head, and instead commented on the fresh snow that had fallen during the day, her trip down south with Happy, how tasty the Chinese takeout she got was from the new place that opened up down the road. It was all mundane stuff no one really wanted to talk about in-depth, but Peter was nevertheless grateful she’d given him his space. He’d gladly talk about the weather over the incident with Beck. 

“Peter?” May said pointedly, drawing him out of his head. 

“Sorry, what did you say?” He quickly replied, snapping his eyes back up May’s. 

“I asked how your hands were doing, Peter,” May asked in a casual tone, but Peter saw the concern in her gaze as her eyes brushed over his bruised knuckles. 

“They’re fine,” peter replied as nonchalantly as he could while he was starting to panic internally.  _ Someone told her what happened… _

“See?” Peter tried to perk up, using his chopsticks to pick up a single grain of rice from his plate and showing May. “Perfectly fine.”

May raised an eyebrow at him, but seemed satisfied enough that she didn’t press the issue. Peter knew he had to get out of there quick, or a more serious line of question would start any second. He quickly shoved another bite into his mouth, trying not to look like he was about to bolt. 

“Peter. You know we have to talk about this,” 

_ Dammit _ . May wasn’t taking any chances with him escaping tonight. 

“What started this again?” The concern in her voice was heartbreaking, even in his current state Peter couldn’t stand to see her so distressed over him. “This seems like it's worse than before. I know you went through a lot when that Mystery guy-“

She didn’t even get the name right and it  _ still _ cut Peter like a hot knife in his chest. 

“-but if it's messing with your mind again, you have got to talk to someone. It won’t just go away by ignoring it forever.”

_ I can try ignoring it forever, see where my anxiety gets me then.  _

“May it’s not like that,” Peter lied, staring down at his food. He was an awful liar. He expected to be called out any second. “I’ve just been having a hard time, dealing with all the changes we’ve gone through. It’s a lot to face sometimes.”

Her silence after his statement told him that she didn’t believe him. Peter should’ve had a better excuse ready for her, this already wasn’t going in a good direction for him. 

“Did someone, do _ something  _ to you that brought this on again?” May asked anxiously, he could tell she’d been wanting to ask this the entire time. 

“ _ No!”  _ Peter said, overly loud. He was digging himself into a deeper grave here he had to turn this around. And quick. “I’ve just been out, with Ned, yeah-”

At that moment, Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes walked into the living space, talking loud enough to distract May from Peter momentarily. That gave Peter a chance to try and get his fake story straight. When the two men caught sight of Peter and May though, Sam decided to walk over to them, with Bucky following behind him. 

“You doing alright, kid?” Sam asked, his tone was concerned, but he had an encouraging smile on. Peter was about to answer when to his horror, Sam sat down next to him.  _ This can’t be happening.  _

“Yeah I’m fine, I was telling May just now, I was only talking with my friend, Ned, and-” Peter could hear the panic rising in his voice. It was one thing to lie to his aunt, but to lie to essentially added up to the new leaders of the Avengers? Peter was going to die of the stress of this alone before anything else at this point. 

“Parker, stop,” Bucky cut him off, giving Sam a tired look. Peter snapped his mouth shut, somehow even more worried now. “You were out with with someone, some memories of the past were brought up, and you reacted to them. It happens to us  _ all of us.” _

Bucky has his arms folded and was staring off to the side, not looking at any of them at the table. If he had to guess, Bucky wanted out of this situation as much as Peter did. 

“Yeah,” Peter responded a bit dryly. “Yeah, something like that happened, we got to talking and things got a bit heated...”

_ Only there wasn’t much talking happening and I nearly committed murder, same difference.  _

Peter watched as Sam looked at Bucky, eyebrows raised. Clearly the man felt that they needed to do more to help fix this kid that was technically under their roof now. He wished their sense of duty would take a good long break right about now. 

“Look, you’ve been through a lot this year,” Bucky said in a softer tone. “It’s understandable if words were exchanged between you and Ned or whoever, and it triggered that past trauma. You can’t expect yourself to handle the gravity of everything that’s happened to you when it all starts piling up. Believe me, I’ve been there, and no one recovers over night. 

“Go and talk to your friend, Parker.” Bucky grabbed Sam by his collar, making him stand up from the chair he’d claimed. “Apologize or ask for an apology, I dunno who needs what, but you’ll start feeling more normal once the air is cleared. It won’t solve everything, but it’s at least heading in the right direction.”

May suddenly objected, making Peter jump. He’d nearly forgotten she was there he was so focused on trying not to break in from of the two Avengers. 

“Wait, he can’t just  _ go out _ after all this? He’s got to relax and-“

“May,” Peter interrupted, not wanting her to prolong the two men’s presence there any longer than necessary. “All I’ve been doing is sitting around and sleeping-”

_ Well, avoiding sleep but- _

_ “- _ and if that doesn’t mean I’ve been taking it easy then I don’t know what is. I.. I think Bucky is right, I just got to go and figure things out with my  _ friend…”  _ Peter nearly choked on that last word. Sure he was talking about a hypothetical situation between him and Ned but the issue was that his  _ actual  _ problem was between him and Beck. An image of Peter knocking on the mans door to try and ‘talk things out’ made Peter want to hurl his first real meal in days. 

Bucky gave him a sideways glance, and Peter cringed internally, guessing that the man had caught his slip up. 

“If the kid is willing to fix whatever he’s got going on, you should let him, Miss Parker,” Bucky held Peter’s gaze for another second before thankfully turning away and pushing Sam towards the direction of the door they’d come in through. “The sooner he gets what’s bugging him out of his system, the better for everyone.”

Then the two men were gone. Peter could hear Sam complaining that they’d gone in there to get food and that he was still hungry, but he was grateful they at least vacated the area for the time being. Now he just had to make his exit too. 

“Do you want me to drive you to Ned’s, at least?” May asked, clearly sensing he was going to make a run for it. 

“...I’ll get back to you on that, May. I dunno if I want to go tonight,” having a nice warm ride  _ inside  _ of a vehicle for once would be nice. Not that he was planning on going to actually talk to Beck. The man would be long gone by then. He’d been discovered by his enemy and he’d have to be the dumbest criminal to stay in the same city, let alone the same apartment. 

_ But, _ a thought whispered in Peter’s mind,  _ you could at least check to make sure he’s  _ not  _ there. That he did in fact  _ leave. 

“Actually, yes. We’ll go tonight,” the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “We’ll wait til it’s a bit darker, because of well, you know, the whole not wanting to be recognized thing.”

Further surprising himself, he finished the food on his plate, told May he’d meet her in an hour or so, and left for his room. The idea of confirming that Beck was long gone and out of his life for the time being was oddly... comforting? No, that wasn’t the word Peter was looking for, but having a plan did help settle his nerves for the first time that entire week. 

Once back in his room, Peter grabbed his backpack and loaded it up with a few things for the night. If his cover story was going to Ned’s place, it’d be suspicious if he wore his suit, so he grabbed it from the bathroom and shoved it in the bag. Just in case. He also grabbed an extra jacket and gloves, with the fresh snow he didn’t want to be any more uncomfortable that he had to be if he decided to stay out all night after confirming his fears that Beck was gone. He’d also decided to grab the EDITH glasses on a whim, and shoved her to the bottom of the bag. If he needed to use her, the glasses were a lot less inconspicuous than having to put on his mask. 

Know he had time to kill and not wanting to stop moving, Peter decided to start cleaning up the mess in the bathroom. Or at least try to. He grabbed the pile of blankets and pillows he’d been hiding in and arranged them back onto his bed. Regardless of what happened tonight, he’d come back and deal with it while sitting in his bed and not on the bathroom floor. He was not going to go back to normal in one night, but he was going to take a step in that direction at least.

There was no way for him to live up to being the next Tony Stark if he didn’t start making a real effort towards it. 

Soon enough, night had fallen completely and Peter was in the backseat of the car that Happy was driving, with his aunt in the passenger seat. He wasn’t particularly thrilled that Happy had been invited along, but at least the two adults seemed willing enough to sit in the awkward silence. He had made it clear he was not going to talk to them about what was going on until he wanted to, and he’d been surprised that they didn’t push the issue. So he had just sat back with his earbuds in, listening to his music while also listening to May and Happy occasionally exchanging comments. Even in their whispered tones it was too easy to pick up what they were saying even with his music playing. It’s like they forgot he had super hearing sometimes, which made Peter’s lips curl up a touch. It was nice to have those things be forgotten about sometimes…

Once they were about two blocks from Ned’s place Peter had Happy pullover. He quickly explained how he’d be recognized if he just walked into Ned’s building like usual, and that he had his own means of meeting his friend without being seen by the general populous. With a few grumbled agreements from Happy and an overly concerned look from May, he was finally out of the car, down an alley, and climbing his way lightly up the wall to the roof of the building. He sat at the top for a moment, pulling a second hoodie on over his sweater as he watched Happy drive away and back in the direction of Headquarters. 

Nodding to himself and setting his mind to the task ahead of him, Peter started the journey from Queens to Manhattan. While it was really cold, Peter couldn’t deny how beautiful it was, swinging through the lazily falling snow. During his purgatory, January had slipped into February, and these soft flurries wouldn’t be around much longer. It was a nice backdrop as he listened to one of Starks old eighties playlists and swiftly made his way across the city. 

Once Peter had arrived at the proper neighborhood, he intentionally took a very round about way to far the building that was across the way from Beck’s. He told himself he was being cautious, but really he’s nervous to find out the truth. He’s oddly scared that Beck  _ will  _ be gone and he’s not sure why it’s making his insides twist in knots. 

_ And what do I do if he  _ is  _ there?  _ Peter kept asking himself over and over.  _ He won’t be… but if he is… _

Peter had reached the building, but was teetering on the edge of the roof, knowing he just had to peek his head over the edge to see the dark window last of Beck’s abandoned apartment. He took his time taking his earbuds out and putting them neatly into a back pocket, clearly trying to prolong the inevitable. He eventually took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he already knew he’d see and he stuck his head out over the edge. 

And there was light streaming out from Beck’s windows. 

_ No way he’s there,  _ he thought in disbelief.  _ The lights were just left on after he left.  _

Peter slowly lowered himself down from the roof on a web strand, not letting himself believe that Beck was still here. He shook his head, his thoughts nearly making it sound like he  _ wanted _ Beck to be there.  _ Well if he was there I’d be able to keep an eye on him… _

He unconsciously held his breath as he dropped the last few feet that would bring Beck’s room into view. Peter promised himself that regardless of what he saw inside, he wouldn’t overreact like last time. He could handle this, whatever  _ this  _ ended up being. 

And there he was. Quentin Beck, sitting on his couch, idly scrolling through some app on his cell phone while the TV droned on in front of him.  _ He really is an idiot,  _ Peter thought.  _ Why would he stay here when I know he’s here?! I could send anyone here to arrest him! _

_ Maybe,  _ another inner voice interrupted,  _ he knew you’d come back alone. Maybe he just wants to talk to you too.  _

But did he want to talk to Beck? He knew Bucky had a point when he said that Peter just needed to sort things out, but that’s when he was referring to Ned. He doubted the Avenger wouldn’t have given the same advice had he known the whole situation. 

…or maybe Bucky would have? Peter had read up on Bucky's checkered past, and knew he had done some incredibly regretful things in his career. Maybe he had sensed that Peter had done something wrong and he needed to make it right…

He then noticed that the window he’d vaulted through a week ago had been left open. Why would Beck do  _ that?  _ It was snowing outside, and there’s no way the freezing air wasn’t making the place uncomfortable, regardless of how high the heat was. And sure enough, when Peter looked back to Beck, the man was wearing a thickly knit turtleneck sweater, not exactly the kind of thing you’d wear in your own comfortably heated home. 

Was Beck waiting for him to show up? Had he been keeping his window open every night for  _ him _ ? Why would he compromise his security system when his enemy could drop in at any moment?

Did he need to talk to Peter as much as peter needed to talk to him?

And he began to realize that he did need to talk to Beck. He needed answers. Ever since his he walked into that unground room and shook that man's hand, his life had been a whirlwind of disasters and failures. He needed to know why. 

Without realizing his mind was made up, Peter sprung off the wall behind him and landed loudly on the railing outside Beck’s window. Peter wasn’t about to knock on the window and ask politely if he could come in, this was the guy that tried to murder him on multiple occasion, so he might as well try and catch him a little off guard. Petty, but there it was. 

Beck only twitched slightly at Peter’s noisy landing though, much to his disappointment.  _ Maybe he’s been expecting me all along… _

But his heart skipped into overdrive when Beck looked over his shoulder and through the window, right at Peter. He thought of a dozen different ways of how this could’ve been a well laid trap as Beck gave him a small smile, dropped his phone and held up his hands, showing Peter that he was unarmed. 

“Window’s open kid, if you wanted to come in,” Beck said calmly, but those eyes were watching Peter intensely. “There’s no tricks here, I only want to talk, promise.”

He hesitated for a moment, knowing better than to trust Beck, but also desperately needing to know what he had to say. Peter was angry, undeniably depressed, and so incredibly lost. If Beck couldn’t give him some of the answers as to why he was trapped in his own cycle of self destruction, he worried that no one could. 

Eyes never leaving Beck, he stepped down from the railing and ducked through the window and into Beck’s home. He continued to stand right next to the window in case he needed to bolt as he watched Beck slowly stand and make his way around the couch. Clearly seeing how tense peter was, Beck stopped a good five feet away from him. 

“Could we close the window? I promise you can barrel straight through it when you feel like leaving,” Beck gestured with his head to the window behind him. 

Peter scanned the room quickly, making sure there wasn’t any traps set or hidden weapons he’d missed before he’d spontaneously decided this wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever had. Everything looked the same from his last visit as far as Peter could tell.  _ Well, Beck had cleaned up the puddle of his own blood that was on the floor,  _ Peter noticed. Then looking over at the workbench, Peter flinched at the dark red stain that Beck had failed to get out of the wooden desk top. 

“You okay, kid?” Beck asked, sounding legitimately concerned. He then took a sudden step toward him, and Peter unwilling shied away from him. And that accidental reflex suddenly set Peter off. 

“No, Beck,” he spat out, his voice shaking and his hands twisting anxiously around one another. “I’m not okay. I’ve never been so fucked up in my life and I don’t know what to do about it! So much of this is your fault and-and-”

Peter struggled for the right words. He hadn’t realized as the words spewed from his mouth that he’d closed the distance between him and Beck. He was looking up at the man, wanting to hate every single thing about him. Then Peter noticed the nearly invisible stitches on Beck’s lip, the barely healed scabs on his cheek, and the shadows of the fading twin bruises around his eyes. Peter’s eyes flicked down and saw the bruises that were creeping up over the high collar of his shirt on his neck, still deep purple and evil looking. 

_ I did that.  _

And Peter felt himself breakin from the inside out all over again. 

Beck must’ve sensed the change in him, as he was suddenly holding Peter by his shoulders, looking as if he expected him to collapse.

“Hey,” Peter hated how Beck was talking to him like he was a bomb that might go off at any moment. “Do you need to sit down? You don’t look good at all, Peter,”

Peter weakly shrugged his hands off. 

“Don’t.” Peter whispered harshly. “Don’t touch me, I-I don’t want to hurt you again. And I could, but I’m-I’m, fuck I’m  _ so sorry _ ,”

The apology was out of his mouth before he could stop it, but he needed to say it. He no longer cared about how defenseless he was or how vulnerable he’d just made himself.

“Peter,” Beck interrupted, shock clear in his tone. “You don’t need to apologize to-”

“ _ Just shut up _ ,” Peter’s hoarse voice now gaining volume, his words spilling out in a rush. “Just listen, Beck. That wasn’t  _ me _ . But now it is me, and, I can’t stand that I’ve turned out like this now and I know it’s your fault, i  _ know  _ it is. But my head won’t let me blame you and I can’t stop hating every piece of myself for all of it!”

Peter grabbed onto the front of Beck’s shirt, half of him wanting to throw the man as far away from him as possible, the other half wanting to beg for forgiveness. 

“I just don’t understand  _ why,” _ The very last thing Peter wanted to do right here, right now, was to start crying in front of the man who would like nothing more than to see him dead. But as he looked at Beck’s sad eyes that were looking back down at him, Peter felt the tears welling up. 

“I don’t understand why I couldn’t just finish it and be done with you. You took everything I had and anything I might’ve had someday, and I still only hate myself,”

Peter’s whole body was shaking now, his one meal from the week hadn’t been enough to physically see him through this new madness he’d put himself into. He suddenly found himself collapsed onto Beck’s chest, his hand gripping tighter at the man's sweater as the tears finally squeezed themselves free and rolled down Peter’s cheeks. 

“I just,” Peter barely choked out, trying to hold onto his last shred of dignity. “I really wish I hated you right now, and I can’t even do that right...”

“I really wish that too, kid,” Beck whispered sadly after a pause. Peter felt a brief trembling from Beck, before the man cautiously wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders. 

And that small gesture sent peter over the edge. The familiar blackness of his terrors closing in around him as he broke down completely in front of Beck, unable to care what the villain did to him at this point. Beck could stick a knife in his back and Peter would welcome it, he was so desperate for an escape from his hell of guilt and shame he felt himself falling back into. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This.... is not where I had intended this chapter to go at all and things have changed in general sooo apologies for the slightly messy chapter?? That’s really long??? But also huge thank you for sticking around for another addition to this madness and I hope you still enjoy :3 comments are always welcome and very appreciated!!


	7. Chapter 7

He can tell it’s already well past noon, even without opening his eyes. Peter sighs into his pillow, his head was absolutely aching, a regular symptom he got after he had a full manic breakdown. His blood was pounding too loudly in his sensitive ears, keeping him from waking up fully. Not that he wanted to. Waking up meant going over his latest panic attack, which meant facing all of his appalling choices that lead to his most recent disastrous decisions. 

Turning onto his stomach, Peter further buried his head into the pillow, trying to block out any light, wishing he could fall back asleep.  _ God, what even set me off last night?  _ He tried recalling, his headache really causing his memory to falter today.  _ I don’t think I even had any night terrors… _

Huh. He hadn’t. That was a first. Peter hadn’t had a truly peaceful nights sleep since London. He really must’ve worn himself out this week to actually sleep like the dead for once. 

_ Maybe it was finally eating something,  _ he thought, yesterday’s memories slowly coming back one by one.  _ I guess food can have its advantages… _

Peter thought he might actually be able to keep sleeping, the realization that he had a fairly normal rest, albeit after another breakdown, made him feel like he might be getting better. It was a small victory, but Peter would take anything he could get at this point. 

Settling himself in deeper into the bed, Peter stretched out one leg, then the other, until his foot slid off the edge. He laid there actually drifting off again until a realization hit him like a bus to the back. That was his left foot hanging off the bed. There should be a  _ wall  _ against the left side of his bed. 

Peter froze, not trusting himself to open his eyes. 

_ Where am I? How did I get here?  _

He willed himself to remember last night; he ate with May, then Bucky and Sam had talked to them… and Peter had decided he was going to try and find Beck… 

Now everything else came rushing back to him. Finding that Beck had not run into hiding, him seeing the blood stain on the tabletop, the still visible bruises on the man's neck, Peter losing his last piece of control and hoping Beck would take him out then and there. And that’s where the memories stopped, with Peter clutching onto Beck, slipping into darkness. 

Peter’s eyes flew open, and he pushed himself up. His eyes burned for a second in the bright light that was streaming through the window, but he adjusted quickly and took in the foreign room. He’s in a huge bed, definitely the biggest he’s ever had the fortune to sleep in. The thick, dark purple sheets he was wrapped felt just as expensive as they looked, and there were far too many pillows piled up against the headboard. If peter wasn’t so freaked out, he’d be judging how luxurious this criminal had decided he needed to live. 

The room itself was large and airy, decorated with modern looking art in thick black frames, a few large leafy plants near the window, and three doors in total around the room. Peter knew from EDITHs scannings that one was a closet, one was a decent sized workout space, and one lead back out to the main living area. 

_ Oh fuck,  _ Peter suddenly realized, his blood running cold.  _ EDITH, my suit, everything in my backpack- _

He scrambled quickly to the foot of the bed, and was surprised to find his bag sitting there on the floor as if it belonged there all along. He bent down and hurriedly unzipped it and rummaged through, double checking that Beck hadn’t taken anything. And to Peter’s surprise, he  _ hadn’t.  _ Everything was here just as he left it. And under the pack was Peter’s hoodie and shoes, folded up and waiting for him like some weird hotel turndown service. 

Looking down at himself, he noticed for the first time that he’s still fully dressed, even his web shooters were still firmly around his wrists, with the exception of said hoodie and shoes. The thought of Beck carefully removing just these layers so he could sleep was… odd. It didn’t make him as uncomfortable as it should have, knowing he’d blacked out and someone who was basically a stranger for all he actually knew about him had made sure he’d been made as comfortable as he could?

“Maybe this is the nightmare, and I’m still asleep,” he whispered quietly to himself. He was pretty positive that this  _ was  _ reality though. Regardless of how terrifyingly real his nightmares could be, this was too  _ normal  _ for his mind to try and torture him with. 

Peter closed his eyes, listening for what was going on outside this room. Focusing, Peter heard water running. Along with the muted occasional clinking of glass on glass. A barely audible scraping of something soft against a hard surface. 

_ Beck’s just doing the dishes?  _ Peter realized incredulously. It just seemed too ordinary for a man of Beck’s history to be doing household chores while his former enemy lay presumably unconscious in the next room over.  _ What the hell was going on here? _

Now that Peter was undeniably wide awake, he had to make one big decision, and it made no sense as to why it was so hard for him to make. He could grab his bag, put on his shoes, walk over to the one big window, unlock it, and swing away into the city where Beck couldn’t possibly hope to follow him. 

_ …Or _ … 

He could go out and actually talk to Beck like an adult and not some broken kid. Really figure out what was happening here. Because at least one of them should probably be dead by now, if not both of them, considering how things were left in London. Beck shouldn’t be doing house work while Peter slept most of the day away in his bed. 

_ God that sounds awful,  _ Peter thought with a strained smile, thankful no one was here to catch him waking up in his enemies bed. The implications here would blow poor J Jonah Jameson’s tiny head off of he’d been lucky enough to catch this scoop. 

Well. After sitting there for another five minutes staring blankly at the grey hued walls, Peter was no closer to making a decision. He didn’t feel like doing either of those things. Logically he knew he couldn’t sit here and sulk forever, eventually Beck would check in to see if Peter and escaped or died in his sleep. 

But how was he supposed to go out there and just start talking to Beck? Was he supposed to skip out there, thank Beck for use of his over sized bed, and then politely ask the man to sit down and try to explain why he’s tried so hard to kill Peter?

_ Yeah, that’ll go over well, I’m sure…  _

Peter grabbed his backpack again and dug out his phone to check the time. It was nearly two in the afternoon and he was shocked that he’d been out for, what, over twelve hours? Thankfully May had only sent one text, and not too long ago, asking if he was doing any better and if he’d be home tonight. 

He typed out a vague yes that he was doing fine and that he would be home late, hopefully keeping her from worrying. It would placate her for the rest of the day at the very least. 

Sighing he put his phone bag in his bag, his decision made. He was going to have to talk to Beck, today. Now. Peter doubted he’d be lucky enough to get another decent sleep if he left this wound wide open. He’d only be going back to more restless nights asking himself the same unanswerable questions over and over. He’d been given a very weird, but undeniably unique opportunity to try and sort some things out with Beck today. He might as well take it. 

Decision made, Peter pulled himself out of the large bed, stretching out his arms and back as he did so. He tried straightening out the sweater and tee shirt he’d slept in, but he quickly accepted he’d be confronting Beck looking exactly how the situation was: like he’d just rolled out of bed. He ran a hand through his mop of hair a couple of times, nodded to himself, then warily opened the door that would lead out to the main room. 

Peter padded softly down the hallway until he came up on the kitchen. Beck was drying the last few clean cups, and putting them away. He was wearing a different turtleneck sweater today, lighter and thinner than yesterday’s now that Beck was able to keep the window closed and the heat inside. Peter suspected he was wearing such high collars to hide the still present bruises on his neck. He wondered if Beck was doing that for Peter’s sake…

Seeing him like this made him seem so normal, and for a second Peter couldn’t recognize him as the man that tried to kill him back in London. For that moment, he was just like any other person, taking care of himself. Someone that Peter could be close with and trust if he had wanted too. 

Beck turned his head to glance over his shoulder, then did a double take, a slight surprise widening his eyes at finding out he was being watched. 

Peter frowned.  _ No, that was Beck. No matter how normal he looks… _

“Afternoon, Kid,” Beck greeted him. The man put the glass he’d been holding into the cupboard in front of him before turning around leaning against the counter. “Glad to see you survived. You had me worried you might’ve gone comatose or worse.”

Peter just stood there, still staring at Beck, feeling suddenly like he was ten years younger. Just a kid standing in a stranger's house, with his wrinkled clothes and mismatched socks. Embarrassment at his current state was flooding through him and he was regretting his choice to face Beck immensely.

“Alright, come and sit down Peter,” Beck gave him a small smile and gestured to the square dining table near the window. “This is just as awkward for me as it is for you, I promise.”

Peter highly doubted that last statement, but did head over to sit down at the table. They might as well be comfortable once they started getting into it. He kept his eyes on Beck the entire time as he sat down in the seat that was backed up closest to the wall... but it wasn't fear that had kept Peter’s eyes glued to Beck’s, he really wasn’t sure what was preventing him from looking away. 

“Seriously, relax, I’m not going to bite,” Beck held out his hands to his sides briefly before pushing away from the counter. He crossed the small space to his refrigerator, opening it up and pulling out a plate with two neatly made sandwiches stacked on it. Watching as he turned and took the few steps to sit opposite him, Peter could tell that Beck was making an effort to move cautiously, probably not wanting to startle him into bolting. Deep down, Peter appreciated that concern. 

After sitting, Beck pushed the plate in front of Peter, raising both his eyebrows. 

“Eat. Poisoning food isn’t my thing, so don’t worry about it not being safe,” his tone was light, but the seriousness of his stare told Peter he wasn’t going to let him say no. “I can’t have you passing out again. If I keep you here much longer I’ll probably have all of SHIELD breaking down my door to get their golden boy back.”

Peter rolled his eyes at that. Of course there was no way for Beck to know for sure who else besides Peter knew his location, but that was still a bit dramatic. 

“Thanks,” Peter said in a low tone, his voice still rough from last night. He dropped Beck’s gaze as he reached toward the first sandwich, inspecting it momentarily. 

_ Lettuce, bacon, turkey, provolone, avocado,  _ Peter listed off in his head.  _ Did Beck always make himself such complicated meals or is it because I’m here? _

Taking a large bite, Peter chewed thoughtfully as he took in the room around him. For as long as he spied on Beck, he hadn’t really noticed the mans style, he’d been to focused on watching his every move. 

“You live a lot fancier than I’d imagined you would,” Peter stated, not looking at Beck, before taking another bite. 

“ _ Fancy?”  _ Beck quoted back, taken aback at Peter’s assessment. “What, did you think I lived in some underground lair in the subway?”

“No, not that exactly,” Peter shrugged with a small snort. He finished the rest of the sandwich in two big bites, his hunger finally winning our fully over his mind. “Although, I should’ve figured you had a thing for the nice lavish stuff.”

“What are you talking about kid?” Beck tilted his head in question as he simultaneously pushed the plate with the second sandwich closer to peter. 

“You know, like with your costume,” Peter said, picking up the offered food without needing another invitation. “You seem to go for the real extravagant looks.”

Beck stared back at Peter like he’d never heard something so offensive before he threw his head back in a throaty laugh. 

“Christ, kid, you go right for the jugular, don’t you?” Beck smiled widely, flashing his bright smile. For a brief moment, Peter was transported back to that bar Beck had taken him to after the fight in Prague. Beck had smiled at him just as genuinely, just as  _ real.  _ Had that been faked? Was  _ this _ fake? Peter had to close his eyes and turn away for a second, suddenly feeling light headed from the conflicting truths. 

“Peter?” Beck’s voice broke through his reverie, his tone now concerned. 

“Sorry,” Peter sighed out, opening his eyes but still looking away from the man across from him. “Sometimes what's real and not starts to blur together. I’m fine, don’t worry about it, Beck…”

“It’s  _ Quentin, _ ” 

The man said it so firmly, Peter couldn’t help but look up at him a bit startled. But he was met with a kind, if not a little exasperated, grin. 

“I get that we’re not friends anymore, but come on, using last names like we’re Nick Fury is ridiculous, don’t you think?”

Peter let that statement hang in the air before responding. 

“Were we friends?” The question came out with more hurt in his voice than he’d intended. He set what was left of his sandwich back on the plate, drawing his knees up to his chest then wrapping his arms around them. Time to get this started. 

“Beck-wait, sorry.  _ Quentin _ … Why are you here? Why am I still here? You say we were friends, but in Europe you nearly killed me. Twice. And I was basically responsible for killing you afterwards. Then last night I slept safely in your bed after I blacked out or whatever,” Peter looked away again, not being able to meet Quentin’s eyes for his next question. “Why didn’t you just kill me and be done with me for good when you had the chance?”

Peter heard Quentin lean back in his chair and let out a low sigh. He looked back across the table, and saw Quetin had his arms crossed over his chest and a frown pulled down at his lips. 

“You just asked a lot of loaded questions, kiddo,” his frown deepened as he met Peter’s eyes. “I’ll answer everything eventually, I promise, but not sure we can fit it all into one week, let alone one afternoon.”

“I’ve got time,” Peter replied, grateful that Quentin seemed to want to be honest with him for once. 

“And you’re not going to like the answers you get either, I reckon. I know I wouldn’t like them if our positions were reversed.”

Peter let out a bitter laugh at that one, which earned him a raised eyebrow from Quentin. 

“I’m used to getting answers I don’t like,” he explained. “Being an underaged super human means you get told a lot of things you don't want to hear. Doubly so if you happen to be Peter Parker.”

For whatever reason Peter’s last words made Quentin suddenly look very uncomfortable. Before Peter could question it, Quentin spoke up again. 

“Alright, we gotta start somewhere, and I need you to know one truth right now before we really dive in, okay?”

He nodded back, waiting for whatever the man needed to get out. 

“I didn’t come here to kill you, Peter,” Quentin’s eyes were large and earnest as he leaned forward, putting both of his hands on the table. “I don’t want to hurt you, or get revenge, or plot out any move against you. I made the wrong call about you in Europe, and I’m not going to make the same one now that I have you here in front of me again.”

Peter tilted his head at Quentin’s remark. Sure the man seemed like he was telling the truth, but he'd also seemed sincere when peter had talked to him all those times before Germany happened. At some point there were going to need to reconcile what had been a truth and what had been a lie with everyone of Quentin’s statements leading up to today. But for the moment Peter wanted to know what was real  _ now.  _

“Why was my face projected on your tech, then?” He question Quentin, that piece of evidence being the most damning against everything the man had just said. “If I’m not your target, then what were you doing looking at  _ me _ ?”

Quentin’s brows furrowed, and Peter could’ve swore he saw a faint blush rising on the man's cheeks, but his facial hair obscured too much for Peter to get a good read on his expression. 

“I did want to find you,” Quentin confessed, but his voice was still steady and confidence, not at all the tone of a man caught in a lie. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head, Peter. I won’t lie and say I regret everything I've done, because I don’t. But, after the Daily Bugle story dropped, I realized that you didn’t deserve to be the catalyst for all of my choices. And it’s all on me. So I wanted to find you, to help you start fixing what I broke. I didn’t know what would you need first after everything I’ve done but,”

Quentin paused, shaking his head with a sad smile. 

“Turns out it’s you that I broke the most _ .” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk where this chapter came from or how I spewed it out so fast, so don’t expect chapter 8 for a couple weeks lol I used up all my brains on this. But! I do hope you enjoyed the ~slightly~ lighter tone, and finally!! Beck gets to speak!! Thank you again to everyone who’s made it this far with me on Peter’s journey :3


	8. Chapter 8

The two stared at each other from across the table in silence for a solid minute. Peter with his eyebrows drawn down, Quentin with the ghost of his last apologetic smile barely hovering at the corners of his lips, his wide eyes filling with concern the longer the quiet dragged on. 

Peter was the one that broke eye contact first, looking down at Quentin’s hands that were on top of the table, as he placed his chin on top of his knees that he still held tightly against his chest. Quentin has been right, Peter didn’t like what he said. 

“Well, congratulations,” Peter said breaking the silence, his tone distant and defeated. “Even though your grand scheme failed, you still managed to destroy the kid that got in your way. But it’s all fine for you_,_ right? You _just _admitted you don’t regret any of it, so what’s the point of you trying to help me?”

“I don’t regret what I did Peter,” Quentin replied, his voice now taking a slightly harder tone. “The point is that I’m not happy with the aftermath of what happened-”

“Oh really? You’re unhappy because you didn’t win?” Peter interrupted, his voice suddenly dripping with sarcasm. 

Peter shouldn’t be surprised that the conversation was going south so quickly, he obviously had set his standards too high that they could act like adults about this. 

Quentin looked at him with a touch of irritation, one eyebrow raised as if asking ‘are you done now?’. When Peter kept his mouth shut, Quentin continued. 

“We’ll get to the results of London later, that not what  _ this _ conversation is about-”

Peter rolled his eyes,  _ is he really trying to say he didn’t lose that day? _

“-I’m unhappy because  _ you _ lost. And that was never part of my original plan, Peter. You were never supposed to become a target.”

“Didn’t seem like you hesitated much once I did become a  _ target _ ,” Peter bitterly retorted. “Already had that fun little illusion conveniently set up and ready to go for a different spider person that found you out then?” 

“Yes, I took precautions,” the man shrugged, unashamed at the truth but now giving Peter a clearly annoyed look. “I was risking a lot and had to make sure I had all my bases covered. But I never thought I’d consider you an  _ enemy _ . You were just the kid I had to get out of the way. I didn’t legitimately think that the circumstances would turn down that path in any of my wildest predictions.

“But we did go down that path, and we ended up here,” Quentin continued, now matching the skeptical look Peter was throwing at him with his own look of exasperation. “There’s so much that you don’t know Peter, about how we got to where we are. And I’d like to tell you all of it, if that’s what you want, but we’ve got to get you fixed first. You came here last night looking like you’ve been starved and as if you haven’t slept since last week, and I doubt it’s anyone one but you that inflicted all that. We both know you need help.”

“Beck, look,” Peter could feel his frustration mounting to dangerous levels, hating that he was just throwing the results of his failings in his face. “I just came here to apologize, not for you to try and fix me and your pride-”

“Kid, you don’t need to apologize to me,” Beck interrupted with a shake of his head. “You haven’t done anything wrong-”

“I nearly killed you, Beck!” Peter shouted and suddenly he was on his feet, his chair falling backwards with a loud thud as he took a step towards Beck. He was so done with everyone telling him how he should feel,  _ especially  _ when it was this man of all people. “And I think I would have if, if I…”

Peter tried to swallow the sour taste that was in his mouth from admitting the truth. He really  _ would _ have killed Beck that night, he couldn’t deny that the act would have been carried out if it hadn’t been for fate turning the lights back on at the exact right moment. He took another step towards Beck, his anger with him and himself reaching that breaking point. 

“I didn’t kill you, but I came damn close to it and you know it! But guess what, I’m not like you, Beck,” the volume of his voice grew steadily louder, and Beck’s eyes got wider as he watched Peter stride towards him with an accusing finger pointed at him. “I can’t hold a gun to someone's head and pull the trigger, then just go back to working on some new tech in a fancy apartment like it was  _ nothing _ ! Yeah, my heart might be beyond fucked up now but at least it’s still there!”

Peter regretted the words as soon as they were out, his anger dissipating into shame. Standing over Beck with his finger pressed into his chest, he could see he struck a nerve. The bright glimmer from Beck’s eyes had dulled completely, and he had that same look of pity and resignation he had the night Peter had nearly choked him to death. 

“I-“ Peter stumbled on the words he was trying to get them out so fast, his hand now flat against Quentin’s chest as if he could hold Quentin together after tearing him apart, “god I’m so sorry, Quentin, I didn’t mean to say all that-”

Quentin cut him off by taking Peters hand off his chest. He gently held onto it as as he gave Peter a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. 

“You’re not wrong, kid, I’ve got no heart to speak of anymore.” He nearly hid it with his casual tone, but Peter still heard the regret in Quentin’s statement. “I don’t want you to have to feel like you  _ need _ to apologize to me is all I’m trying to say. I haven’t gotten anything from you I didn’t deserve.”

“No, Quentin, you didn’t deserve that,” Even as he whispered them, Peter couldn’t believe he was actually saying the words out loud, no matter how true he knew they were. “No one deserves to suffer like that. Not even you…”

Peter gently squeezed Quentin’s hand that held his, “I’m sorry Quentin. You’ve got a lot to answer for, but that doesn’t excuse what I did. I’m _ so sorry _ .”

They stared at each other, Peter standing over Quentin and trying to hold back the tears that were threatening his vision already. Not being able to hold Quentin’s steely blue gaze, he dropped his eyes and realized he was still holding onto Quentin’s hand. He was mildly surprised with how comforting he found having the man's hand in his. He must need help if he found stability in this. 

Quentin must’ve felt Peter staring at their locked hands and he gingerly slipped his hand out from Peters. Peter pulled his hand back awkwardly, immediately missing the steady pressure of Quentin’s fingers around his. 

_ Yeah, I definitely need help. I shouldn’t be feeling needy like this… _

“Kid, you’ve got too much heart, and it’s going to get you in more trouble,” Quentin warned, but not unkindly. The man sighed, then reached out to lift Peters chin back up, reestablishing their eye contact. “Can we start this over, Peter? Not to forget everything, you have every right to the answers to your questions. But let’s try a truce? Try and work out both of our issues, see if that helps either of us?”

Peter nodded as Quentin withdrew his hand from his chin. They were getting nowhere by overreacting at everything the other person said. They could at least play pretend at the formalities while Peter got the answers he needed. 

“Yeah, we can try that,” he concedes as he presses the heel of his hand to his temple. His post-break down headache hadn’t receded yet, not that him getting worked up and yelling had helped with that at all. 

“You going to be alright, kid?” Quentin asked cautiously. The man looked almost guilty, like it was all his fault that Peter was so messed up.  _ He wouldn’t be completely wrong if that what he’s thinking though _ , Peter reminded himself. 

“I’m fine, it’s just been a long night. And a long day. You, umm, you weren’t exactly wrong thinking I’m a bit broken in here,” he surprised himself by genuinely smiling at Quentin as he ran his hand through his messy curls. He then added,  _ mostly _ joking, “Not that I’d admit it to you when you’re acting like an ass though.”

Peter was rewarded with a real smile and low laugh from Quentin. The man shook his head before looking back up at Peter. “I wouldn’t be such an ass if you didn’t act so bratty hearing things you don’t want to hear, you know.”

Peter rolled his eyes and failed at holding back a chuckle. He took it as a good sign, them being able to tease each other and not freak out.  _ This just might work out,  _ Peter thinks optimistically. 

_ But not right now,  _ he decides begrudgingly after a beat. His head was pounding, and he still felt like he could be on the edge of another outburst. His emotions were all over the place and he could barely straighten out his own train of thought. He knew he definitely wasn’t in a good place to start analyzing their past and cutting open those wounds that still hadn’t healed. 

“Okay, so, I think I should go, for now,” Peter said awkwardly, not really sure how he should explain himself. “I’m still feeling all-” Peter held his hand out and shook it jerkily “-overcharged? Overwhelmed? Not the best mindset for all this if I’m being real…”

“That fine Peter, no need to rush,” Quentin stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. If he was disappointed in Peter’s decision to go he hid it completely. 

“I’ll just get my stuff real quick, and… yeah,” he slid out from under Quentin’s hand and made his way back to the bedroom. Thankfully Quentin didn’t follow, giving Peter a chance to mentally catch his breath without an audience. 

As he sat down on the bed and pulled on his shoes, he glanced back at the spot where he had spent the night. Quentin must’ve placed him in the middle of the big mattress to prevent him from possibly rolling off the unfamiliar bed while he slept, but that meant Peter had made a complete mess of the whole thing. He’d twisted up the sheets and comforter all around him in the night,and had left them piled around the spot where he’d woken up. He felt as if it would be rude to leave it like it was, but Quentin would definitely be stripping the bed and washing everything after he’d slept in his street clothes in it. 

He threw his extra hoodie into his backpack before swinging it over his shoulder, taking one last look at the bed. Maybe someday he’d get himself something just as oversized and comfy to sleep in if he was lucky. He knew he wouldn’t be using this one again. No more breakdowns in Quentin’s home. 

Exiting the room he found Quentin still standing, now leaning up against the back of his couch, one hand in his jeans pocket, the other idly rubbing at the hidden bruises on his neck as he patiently waited for Peter. Quentin dropped his hand the second he caught sight of him walking down the short hall. 

“Sure you got everything?” 

“Yeah, didn’t really bring much,” Peter nodded once, then pointed towards Quentin’s neck. “Sorry for  _ that,  _ still. It can't be comfortable waiting for it to heal up.”

“I’ve had worse,” He replies casually, while unconsciously pulling up at his turtle neck to make sure the bruises were still hidden. “I was going to ask what happened to your hands, but it seems those bruises healed up quicker than mine.”

Peter held up a hand and examined it, and Quentin was right, his bruises he had last night had faded completely. All evidence of his brutal self inflicted wounds had disappeared. 

“I had a bad night,” Peter offered vaguely, not wanting to revisit that so soon. 

“I think you’ve had more than one bad night, kid. Make sure you take care of yourself this time, alright?” Quentin gave Peter a crooked smile, before looking away. “So, do you wanna use the front door or the window? It’s still day time so I didn’t know if you had a preference.”

“I’ll take the window, easier to avoid crowds that way,” Peter internally laughed at the absurdity of the question, knowing no one else would get those kind of options when leaving but him. He turned towards the window in question when Quentin spoke from behind him. 

“Will you come back soon?” Quentin’s query took on a new tone peter hadn’t heard from the man yet. He turned back around, Quentin’s cheeks were definitely flushed, but his eyes soft as he looked at Peter.  _ Was that  _ hope _ I heard? _

“You want me back?” That wasn’t what Peter had meant to say, but it was how he felt. Peter had been here twice and both times had  _ inconvenienced _ Quention beyond what any person would tolerate of a normal house guest. 

But Peter found that despite how frustrating Quentin could be, and that they were technically still enemies at their cores, and knowing it make no sense at all, that he wanted to come back. Hell he didn’t really want to  _ leave _ for some crazy reason he couldn’t figure out, but he had been unsure how soon he’d be welcomed back here again. 

“Of course, Peter,” Quentin visibly relaxed, speaking earnestly. “You can come back whenever you want. I’ll leave the window unlocked for you. You can swing in anytime.”

“Thank you, Quentin,” he finally responded after a pause, the sincerity in the man's voice surprising Peter. “For everything. I promise I’ll be back soon.”

And before he could start convincing himself to stay, Peter opened the window and quickly ducked out. As he jumped off the balcony and webbed toward the opposite building, he looked back and saw Quentin watching him leave. Being watched by someone who had tried to kill him should’ve made him uneasy. Hell, sleeping in the bed of the person who had tried to kill him should’ve made him want to crawl out of his skin, but instead he only felt an unfamiliar fluttering sensation in his stomach. 

Something had shifted between him and Quentin today. It scared Peter, but mostly because he  _ wasn’t  _ afraid of Quentin, not any more. And that he was more than a little excited to see Quentin again, and that should be setting off warning bells for sure. 

_ And how did Beck become Quentin so easily?  _

He  _ knows _ he shouldn’t feel this passive about everything that occurred in the past day. But, then again, the situation was anything but normal. There wasn’t really a rulebook for how to react when your former would-be-murderer decides to try and help you make sense of everything that’s currently messing you up. 

_ I’m going to get some straight answers finally,  _ Peter told himself.  _ No more lies. That would make anyone feel a little eager to go back.  _

_ Right? _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this one! Real life, the holidays, work and all that jazz really takes a toll this time of year but! Hope you enjoy! Things are going to starting moving in all sorts of crazy directions very, very soon ;3 as always, comments are discussions are always welcome and appreciated!


	9. Chapter 9

Peter had almost a whole twenty four hours when he thought things might have been getting better. 

They were not. 

It had been five days since he’d left Quentin’s place, and he decided he would wait to go back until he’d found himself in a better place mentally. Peter had one long, peaceful nights sleep at Quentin’s, and figured it was a sign of better nights to come. 

His first night back in his own bed could be described as mostly uneasy. He kept waking up to feelings of guilt over what he’d said to Quentin, that he had no heart. 

It wasn’t true and Peter knew it. Quentin had months to go over the events in Europe and come to terms with his actions. It shouldn’t be that surprising that he could look Peter in the eye calmly and talk about what he’d done. Quentin had even determined on his own that he should come back to New York to find Peter and see if he could begin to help fix the damage he did. A truly heartless person didn’t come to those kind of conclusions. 

Peter knew he was prone to having a guilty conscience, so he tried to write his sleep induced anxieties off as just that as he went about the rest of his day. He was terribly behind on his school work, and he spent the day in front of his laptop, trying to focus on studying advanced biochemistry and chemical engineering, and  _ not  _ think about Quentin Beck. 

It worked for about ten minutes at a time. Maybe fifteen if he was lucky. It took four times longer than it should have for him to finish one assignment, his mind kept drifting towards Quentin. Wondering what he was doing, if he’d been brought down by Peter accusations or if he’d gone back to working on that new tech of his…

The second night was even worse. The nightmares were back, and they were playing to Peters worst fears about the whole situation. 

It started with Peter and Quentin back in the man's kitchen. Quentin had offered his hand, asking Peter to trust him. Dream-Peter accepted without hesitation, grasping Quentin’s hand within own and closing the distance between them. The man leaned towards Peter a bright smile on his face. Then Quentin was pulling his hand back, the EDITH glasses in his grasp. Quentin’s smile turned wolffish as the room went dark. A bright light was coming from behind Peter and he turned around just in time to see the train practically on top of him and-

Peter had actually fallen out of the bed, trying to escape his deadly fate. He spent too long on his knees trying to calm himself, and unable to stop his body’s trembling for nearly an hour after. 

Nights three and four were more of the same. Long nightmares of Quentin betraying Peter, of him lying and scheming and plotting his demise all over again. And he was waking up disoriented and unable to remember where he was again, which was definitely a step in the wrong direction. He spent the following days trying to convince himself that it was just his lingering anger at the man for what he did before, that it was only brought about because he’d reopened the wounds of the past so recently. It was a natural response, that his brain was trying to remind him of his worst fears, right? 

Last night though, that had been the worst of it. This new night terror had him back in the war zone that the Avengers Headquarters had become during the final stand against Thanos. Bodies littered the ground wherever he looked, the gory reality hitting him hard. 

_ I need to find Mister Stark, he needs my help this time! _

Peter ran and searched for his mentor, thinking he might be able to change his fate. If he could just be quicker, be a little stronger, Peter could help-he knew he could! Mister Stark was just a man, but Peter was  _ more _ , he could take the brunt of the stones, and stop Thanos and save everyone. 

Including Tony Stark. 

Peter rounded another hill of distorted metal and cracked earth, and saw that he’d found his quarry. He was looking at the back of Tony, who was facing down an unknown enemy. Peter called out to him, hoping to stop him in time. 

Tony turned around to face the kid, but it wasn’t the man Peter had known in life. 

The Tony Stark that faced him was a cruel, twisted version of the man, already laughing at Peter sadistically. 

“You got lucky, Mister Parker,” the nightmare Stark cackled at him. “One more mistake and this could’ve been you, too.”

Stark put his thumb and middle together, the Infinity Stones glittering on the back of his hand. Peter then look beyond him, to see who he’d been referring too. 

And it was Quentin Beck. Kneeling there, already beaten down. Quentin looked up at Peter, saying something that he couldn’t catch. 

Stark then snapped his fingers, and Quentin dusted out of existence, just like he himself had all those years ago. 

Dream Peter started yelling, begging for Stark to bring him back. Then Stark disappeared, fragmenting into dust just like Quentin. And soon the world around him began to tear into tiny pieces, breaking itself down and out of reality.

Until nothing remained but Peters sobs in the darkness. 

He really couldn’t say when he’d actually woke up, he was still sobbing into dark of his room when reality finally hit him that it was just a dream and he was awake. He’d been disoriented and trapped in his head for too long this time for it to not be a concern. 

And now, as he sat on the floor of his room in his boxers and a tee shirt, slowly packing things into his backpack, he went over his thought process again. 

Yes, he’d broken down completely in front of Quentin. It had hurt and had been nearly too much to bear, the weight of his sins coming down on him like that. But, getting out some of that pain and regret had allowed him to get a quiet nights rest. The longer he’d been away from Quentin, the worst his nights got. And every time he woke up, it was harder and harder for him to remember what was real and what wasn’t. 

So, he’d convinced himself that, just maybe, talking things out with Quentin could actually help him. There was a real possibility that the more they dealt with their past, the more Peter would be able to repair his damaged mind. He was no expert in the field of psychology, or therapy, or any of the mental science fields, but this felt like it was the right thing to do, and Peter’s gut was usually right. 

_ Usually.  _

He was packing his essentials, extra hoodie, phone and wallet, when he had to ask himself how he’d be going over to Quentin’s. The last time it had been dark, so traversing the cities rooftops in his regular clothes hadn’t been an issue. But it wasn’t even noon yet. And the thought of waiting another seven or eight hours before seeing Quentin seemed like torture. It wasn’t that being caught was an issue any longer,because ironically the person he wanted to see so badly for whatever reason had already seen to  _ that _ , but the idea of swinging around New York as just  _ Peter Parker  _ seemed too weird. 

But the thought of showing up on Quentin’s balcony in broad daylight in his spidey suit and then sitting in his apartment in it was equally as weird. 

Mind made up, Peter packed his suit up in his bag. He’d stick to swinging between only the tallest buildings when he could, trying to keep himself as far away from the public eye as possible. He’d only wear the suit if some emergency of sorts arose. That, and he just felt a little bit more comfortable having it with him, even if he didn’t actually need it. 

He rose from the floor with a small groan, still feeling the ache in his head from the previous nights terrors, and swiftly finished dressing himself before grabbing his bag and moving to head down stairs to meet May for his ride into the city. 

******

May had needed to go into Manhattan, which had worked out in Peters favor, meaning he only had to travel between a handful of blocks to get to Quentin’s instead of his usual long trek across what seemed to be the entirety of New York City. There were still pockets of snow dotting the sidewalks and buildings, and Peter was glad warmer days were coming soon. He usually wouldn't mind the time it took to get anywhere just by webbing there, but doing it in the freezing cold was always pretty miserable heated suit or not. 

Before he really knew what he was planning to do, Peter found himself on Quentin’s balcony. He peered in through the window, but didn’t see anyone inside. After a brief internal debate, he didn’t want to wake him if he was sleeping in late or something, Peter rapped hard on the glass pane. Quentin had said he’d keep the window unlocked, but it felt odd to just invite himself in. 

After a beat, Quentin appeared in the doorway leading to his room. The man grinned once he locked eyes with Peter, and made a gesture to come in. Peter found himself grinning back as he pulled the window open and ducked inside. Once he closed the window behind him, Peter readjusted his backpack and looked back up, the smile on his face faltering ever so slightly as he watched Quentin make his way towards him. 

Quentin must’ve been working out in his back room, Peter worked out quickly. The man was wearing a thin tank, that was currently sticking to his damp chest, revealing broad muscles. Quentin clapped his hands together, causing his bare shoulders and arms to flex as they tightened with the action. 

Peter did his best to keep his eyes on Quentin’s face and replace his grin. They had enough to deal with, and he didn’t want to start the day with Quentin asking why Peter had been gawking at him. 

“Hey Quentin, sorry if I came at a bad time,” Peter started as the man stopped in front of him. He was still giving Peter his space, pausing a good three feet away. While he did appreciate the respect the man was trying to show, Peter no longer thought the caution was necessary anymore. At least not now. 

“It’s alright Peter, I didn’t exactly give you a schedule,” Quentin waves off his apology with a large paw. “Give me twenty minutes to clean up and shower?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Peters eyes darted down to Quentin’s hand for a second before going back up. “Take your time.”

“Make yourself at home, kid,” Despite the smile and light tone, it sounded more like a demand than a request. “I’ll be right back, promise.”

With only a few long strides, Quentin grabbed a bundle of clothes from his room and then shut himself in the bathroom, leaving Peter standing awkwardly next to the window he came in through. 

_ No point in just standing here _ , Peter thinks as he debates between sitting at the more familiar kitchen table again or actually making himself at home on the couch like Quentin asked. 

Eventually Peter decides and carefully toes off his shoes, leaving them by the window. He pads over to the couch, rolling his eyes at himself for trying to keep quiet as he lowers himself onto the cushions. Quentin has the water on in the shower and wouldn’t be able to hear him anyways. 

_ God, why am I still so awkward when he’s not even here? _

He deposited his backpack on the side of the couch, pulling out his phone. He scrolled through his emails, answering a few to his professors about his late assignments and when he’d be getting them sent out. Not that he would’ve had any foresight, but he wished he had his laptop to get some school work done while he waited. 

He was sitting cross-legged, and had actually relaxed into the plush cushions of the couch when Quentin emerged from the bathroom. 

“Sorry kid, should’ve turned on the TV or something for you,” Quentin said apologetically. 

“No worries, I had to respond to a couple professors anyways,” Peter said as he pocketed his phone and looked over the couch. Quentin was in a simple black v-neck shirt and jeans. Peter was a touch envious at how the man could make something so simple look fashionable: if he wore the same thing, he’d look like exactly what he was, a geek trying too hard to look cool. 

“Professors?” Quentin inquired, bypassing the couch to sit on the low table across from Peter. “Did you graduate early? Are you in college now?”

Peter nodded. “Just an online college for now, trying to burn through getting my bachelors as quick as possible.”

“Online college?” Quentin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a look of confusion in his eyes. “I would have pegged you for trying to go for MIT with that brain of yours,” 

“Well, that  _ was _ the plan,” Peter replied hesitantly. “MIT wasn’t too keen on having me on the roster with England still wanting to extradite me for, you know… killing you.” 

The attentive enthusiasm that had lit up Quentin’s eyes faded as soon as the words registered. The man sat back up straight, no longer leaning into Peter’s space. Peter regretting saying anything, he was actually enjoying talking to another person like everything was normal for once and he’d gone and ruined the moment. 

“I’m sorry-I really didn’t mean to bring all that up today,” he backtracked quickly, hoping he could reset the mood in the room. “It’s just, you asked and-”

“Kid, when are you going to stop apologizing for my mistakes?” Quentin interrupted. He gave him a frustrated smile while shaking his head. “It’s just the truth of your situation. I asked and that’s the answer. And I…”

He paused for a second, tilting his head at Peter, chewing on his tongue. 

“That really sucks, Peter. You deserve a chance to go after what you want. And hopefully someday you’ll get that chance back,” Quentin ran his hands down the length of his thighs and back up again, still giving Peter a questioning stare. 

“You said that you didn’t want to bring that up today though, does that mean you had something else in mind you wanted to talk about?” He asked simply, catching Peter off guard with how forward he was. 

“Umm, yeah, I did.” He answered hesitantly. 

“Ask away then, Peter,” Quentin gave him one of his real smiles then, the slightly crooked one that pulled to the right and flashed his teeth. “I promise you’ll only get the truth from me.”

Part of Peter wondered how true his statement was. Quentin has easily lied to his face without a second thought or hesitation before, was this really any different?

_ Yes. This isn’t the same.  _ Peter told himself. It  _ had _ to be different. If peter stopped believing that, he feared that he might literally lose himself. His instincts were telling him that this man was his last shot at figuring out what was happening to him. 

“I wanted to ask you about Mister Stark,” He began, carefully watching as Quentin’s expression changed from interested to mildly concerned. This is exactly what Peter came here for: why his mentor caused  _ that _ reaction in Quentin. 

“After everything that happened, I did some research on you, tried to figure out why you did everything,” Peter continued, still warily watching the mans every reaction. “You worked for him at Stark Industries. And you made the BARF system. Then you were fired.”

Peter paused when Quentin lowered his eyes at his last statement. That had must’ve struck something. 

“That’s all I could find though. There wasn’t any other information on you beyond that and, something about it didn’t seem right to me. I guess I’d like to know your side of the story.”

Quentin sighed heavily before looking back up at Peter, eyes looking tired and pained. 

“ _ Mister Stark,”  _ he grimaced at saying the name. “Sure you want to hear about your idol’s troubled past, kid? You might not like him so much after.”

“I know he wasn’t perfect, Quentin,” Peter surprised himself by not taking Quentin’s bait, jabbing at his connection with Stark. “I just want the truth.”

“Okay kiddo,” Quentin nodded, the previous goading tone gone and replaced with a bitterness tinged with ache. “I can tell you my side,”

And he did.

Quentin talked for nearly two hours, telling Peter every step of how he got to where he had been at Stark Industries. During his junior year at MIT he had been accepted for an intern position within Starks company. Upon graduating with stellar marks Stark himself had given him the news that he would be offered a full time position in their engineering department, which Quentin had immediately accepted. He didn’t speak to Stark in person for years after that. Quentin understood though, Stark was a busy man. 

He had worked on numerous projects at SI, his obsessive need for perfection and an eye for flare had him well known within the company. Eventually his reputation helped get his new personal project approved and funded for research. He wanted to take their virtual interfacing programs and expand it into a new program that would be able to project huge simulated environments in real time if properly done. 

It took him years to finally start putting the final pieces of his project together. During that time the team working with him had learned how much of a perfectionist he was and had begun to pick up his traits. They had become a force to be reckoned with within the company, which eventually got the attention of Tony Stark himself. He had come to visit Quentin in his office, asking to see a demonstration of his work. 

Never one to be caught unprepared, Quentin had a short demo ready, and instantly surrounded the two men in a realistic rainforest with a few commands into his wrist controller. It had pleased Quentin to his core that he saw Tony’s eyes pop in surprised from behind his tinted sunglasses at the marvel that  _ Quentin  _ had achieved. The only mishap to the entire thing was right at the very end, literal seconds before he was about to shut down the virtual forest, one of his projectors glitched, causing a noticeable lag in one of the corners of the forest. 

At the point Quentin stood up from his seat on the table and began pacing the room. 

“I panicked, quickly shutting the whole thing down, apologizing like I had just killed someone and he watched it happen,” Quentin was speaking quicker now, more agitated. “Stark stayed quiet, staring off towards where the one projector had failed. Eventually he asked me if the system could be weaponized. I thought he wanted to use it for his Iron Man suit, so I told him with time it could be if he wanted it. He was quiet again, asked if he could play with the programming a bit, test it out.

“Of course I handled the software it over to him, he technically owned it, but it was the gesture behind it, trusting him with it,” Quentin looked towards the window, not really looking out of it, more just staring in that direction, as he must’ve been reliving that day in his head. “Before he left, he asked me what I called the project. Intelligent Virtual Augmented Artificing, or IVAA. I remember him giving me a look at the name, and I just laughed and said I wasn’t as clever with acronyms as he was…”

After a pause, Quentin turned and sat himself down on the couch, looking straight ahead and pointedly not at Peter. “IVAA, she was supposed to be my break through. What got my name out there so I could really start inventing things that would change how we use technology. But Stark _took_ her, made her into his self-help bot, and I had no idea. Not two weeks later he dragged me up to MIT, only told me he was going to use the software for a short demonstration, then he proceeded to write the whole thing off as a multi-million dollar therapy experiment _that_ _he named BARF.”_

Quentin sounded angry, but as Peter looked him over, he just saw loss clearly etched on his face. It hurt Peter to his core to know that this man's life’s work has been handled so carelessly by someone who should’ve respected the creativity and intelligence that went into making it. Quentin’s hand had slid off his lap and onto the couch, and on impulse, Peter reached across the short distance between them and held it gently in his own. 

The man glanced down at their hands and then back up at Peter, his sad eyes questioning him. Not knowing what to say, Peter gave his large hand a supportive squeeze from his noticeably smaller one, inviting him to continue.

“He disappeared after the demonstration,” Quentin signed as he leaned back into the couch, turning his head away from peter again. “I didn’t get a chance to confront him until weeks later, which ended up being for the worst. I had time to turn my disappointment into rage, and when the moment came, I couldn’t even attempt to speak to Stark in a civil tone. I cornered him outside his private garage when he finally showed up. I was rude and snarky, towering over him with a finger in his indifferent face. 

“He just stared up at me through his stupid sunglasses, expression blank, proving that I didn’t matter, that he didn’t care,” Quentin’s head bobbed as he swallowed hard, his lips turned down in a grimace. “After asking  _ if I was done _ , Stark told me that my project had too much potential to be militarized and he needed to shut it down. That I had to start on something different. I grabbed him by his coat, told him that  _ he  _ was the one that asked if it could be weaponized, that  _ he  _ was the one that took everyone's best ideas and integrated them into that crimson suit of his. That I had only thought I’d come up with one of the ideas worthy of the great Tony Stark. 

“That’s when I started to lay into him how he was the one militarizing whatever he thought was useful for his inner-galactic world policing. That he was just another rich kid that had been given too much power, that got to use the planet as his sandbox and everyone on it were just his playthings. That it would only take a handful of people to come together and speak out, to prove to the world he wasn’t a hero at all, because after all, hadn’t so many of those incidents been caused because of him? Stark didn’t like hearing that.”

Quentin grasped Peter’s hand tightly. He held the grip for a moment before he realized he was doing it, looking down at their entwined hands and relaxing immediately after. 

“I got the notice the next day, that they were letting me go,” he continued, letting the tension go from his voice and his body. “I had my office cleaned out before noon and was on my way. Of course Stark had made sure I couldn’t take IVAA with me, he locked that program up so tight I couldn’t hope to get her back. After leaving I spent years working for various private employers, all while trying to recreate and advance my own tech. My mind was set on revenge on Stark, and I was slowly gathering up the knowledge and people to do it. It wasn’t until I found out that Stark was planning on leaving a large chunk of his legacy to some young protege of his, that we really started to prepare. Then when we found out it was his global combat drone fleet he was giving to this kid, the plan basically wrote itself.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, staring down at their hands while he rubbed his thumb slowly across the back of Peters hand. Quentin then gently slid his hand out from Peters, stretching his arm across the back of the couch and turning his body to face him fully. 

“And that’s what happened, kid. Stark feared what he couldn’t control and I was part of that fear,” 

Peters heart was beating too fast in his chest. Quentin was proof Tony Stark was fallible in the worst ways. At what point would he have turned Peter away?

Then he remembered that Tony  _ did _ , after his disastrous plan on that ferry boat nearly turned deadly. But Peter had deserved that, he had put hundreds of lives in danger after specifically being told to keep his nose out of it. And after being turned away, Peter continued to follow his gut feeling, disobey everything he’d been told and he had ended up proving to everyone that he’d been right all along. 

Quentin had done none of that. He’d used his genius to create awe inspiring tech that he had no intention of every trying to cause harm with. And Tony had tossed him aside for what he imagined  _ might  _ happen. It was wrong on every level, and Peter didn’t even want to try to find an excuse for what Tony had done. He felt sick, he’d been lied to about who that man had ever really been. 

“Quentin, I’m sorry-not that I could even know about it-” he quickly added in as he saw Quentin starting to protest the apology. “ I’m really sorry that he didn’t trust you. That he didn’t even give you the chance to prove yourself. It wasn’t fair to you, to your team, and to everyone else he probably did the same thing too…”

“Life’s not fair, Pete, but I know you’ve heard that one before,” he laughed bitterly. 

“I’m not asking life to be fair,” he retorted, anger slowly replacing his pain at the truth about the person he’d looked up to more than anyone else. “I just wish people that hold so much power in their hands would think past themselves for once. Just look at  _ you.  _ Willing to do anything to get revenge on a dead man and what's even worse is that I can’t even blame you for it anymore. He stole your work, he didn’t even give you a chance to rebuild it after you only insulted him? It makes sense that you wanted it back!”

Peter fists were clenched into tight balls, the tendons pulling taught at the skin, straining with his anger. 

“Peter?” Quentin’s eyebrows were drawn down in concern, he could see that he was slipping and that made Peter more furious: at the situation and himself. 

“He threw you away,” He spat out, disgusted by the truth and hating how vulnerable he was to it. “At what point would he have thrown anyone else on his team away?”

Peter paused, looking down at his now trembling fists, speaking in barely more than a whisper, “When would’ve my turn come around to be thrown away by Tony Stark too?”

Quentin moved his hand from the back of the couch to cup around the back of Peter’s neck, his touch surprisingly gentle and warm. 

“Listen kid, you were never disposable, not to Stark,” the unexpected softness in the man's voice almost totally calmed Peter, his hands steadying and unclenching themselves as he snapped his eyes up to Quentin’s. “He left you EDITH, and the entire Stark legacy. I honestly do think it's a bit of a curse to leave that responsibility with anyone, especially a kid, but think of everyone he  _ didn’t  _ trust with it.

“Yeah, I got fucked over by Stark, and you deserve to know that he was no white knight like the world paints him to be. But don’t you dare think for a second that you weren’t worth more than anyone else to him Peter.”

The man's hand tightened on his nape, and Peter instinctively leaned in closer. He could see Quentin believed every word he was saying, but Peter was doubting them now that he really knew the full truth about Tony. 

“How could you possibly know that?” He asked quietly, the malice gone now, replaced with a melancholy curiosity. How could Quentin know what Tony Stark would’ve thought of him?

“Kid,” Quentin shook his head lightly, “you’re everything he wished he was, even I can see that. After meeting you myself I immediately saw why Stark wanted you.”

Peters chest tightened with too many emotions for him to process all at once. Why would anyone want to be him? Just a kid with too much responsibility to know what to do with it. Yeah he wanted to be better, and always tried to be, but he was always falling short in one way or another. 

“No one should want me though,” Peter whispered, still trying to argue against himself. “I’m just-I’m just,  _ me _ ,”

“Self-deprecation doesn’t suit you, you know,” Quentin leaned in closer, his hand comfortably heavy on Peters neck as he gave him a gentle shake. “If there’s one thing I really meant, it was to never apologize for being the smartest in the room. But that also means not denying that’s who you are either. There’s too many reasons to list why he’d want you. I’ve been through them enough to know I do too.”

Peter tilted his head, taking a moment to try and understand everything he’d just been told. While he puzzled over it, he watched as Quentin cocked an eyebrow at him, his big blue eyes glancing down once before darting back up to meet his. Then the man sighed, clearly hesitating on something he had on his mind. 

Peter began to ask Quentin what else he had to say when his phone went off in his pocket, the loud music of the ringtone breaking the silence that had built up around them. 

“Damn it, sorry-” Peter hastily apologized as he leaned back to awkwardly get the phone out of his jeans pocket. When the phone went off, Quentin’s hand jumped off Peters neck, and the man already had it slung over the back of the couch again as Peter finally pulled out his phone and silenced it. 

After taking his eyes off the hand that had just been on him, Peter quickly read through the text that had been sent by May. Peter frowned. May was getting ready to leave to go back to headquarters, and if he wanted a ride back, his time here was up. 

“I’m sorry Quentin, my rides about to head out,” He apologized, wishing he could’ve had more time to get his emotions back in order before disappearing. 

“Don’t worry about it kid,” Quentin was already pushing himself off the couch, his hand held out to help Peter up. “I doubt this will be the last I see of you.”

Peter took his hand and got back onto his feet. He then did something neither of them had expected. Peter wrapped his arms around Quentin’s chest, pulling the man into a tight hug. 

“Peter?” Quentin huffed out in surprise, clearly confused at the sudden affection.

“I am sorry you weren’t given the chance you deserved Quentin,” Peter said quickly, knowing Quentin would argue if given the chance. “You could’ve done so much if he’d been smarter. I could’ve  _ actually _ used you on my side. You would’ve been a great ally, you know.”

He let go once he was done and took a few steps back, now anxious that he might’ve upset Quentin. Wanting to look anywhere but at him, Peter quickly slid on his shoes and grabbed his bag, ready to bolt. 

“Hey kid,” Quentin grabbed Peter wrist, stopping him from making a quick exit. “Thanks. I'm really glad you came by, it feels,  _ better _ , getting some of that out.”

He dropped Peter’s wrist and smiled widely. 

“Think you’ll come back soon?”

Peter was already nodding before he’d even had a chance to consider the question. Was he really that eager to be back here when he hasn't even officially left?

“I’ll be back, soon as I can,”

With that, Peter was out the window and swinging through the still crisp afternoon. Peter wasn’t nearly as startled as he should be, with how much he wanted to turn around and go back to Quentin’s. But, if his theory panned out, and working things out with Quentin did help him sleep, then it was for his own health he needed to go back. 

At least that’s what he was telling himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Real life and con cronch got in the way, we all know how that goes... but!! Hope you all enjoy the extra long chapter and as always, nice comments are always appreciated here :3


	10. Chapter 10

_ Come on, you know you shouldn’t be falling asleep, especially not here,  _ Peter mentally scolded himself, and not for the first time. It had been a long winter, spring had a very late start, and sitting in the warm late afternoon sunlight streaming in from the window, Peter couldn’t help but settle himself in deeper into his comfy seat. He sighed heavily, knowing he should open his eyes and get back to the essay he’d been working on and  _ not _ risk having an episode here. 

“Kid, you alive in there?” Quentin’s voice broke the silence, and a hand playfully smacked the side of Peter’s head. “You said no sleeping while you had work to do, so c’mon, don’t make me be the bad guy. Again.”

Peter yawned widely as he stretched his body awake, quickly snatching his laptop as it slid off his lap and nearly onto Quentin’s floor. Rolling his shoulders, Peter sat up straight on the couch, debating on whether to finish the essay or call it for the day. 

_ It’s been, what, two, maybe three days since I slept?  _ Peter asked himself, as he shut down his laptop and set it aside.  _ Maybe I’ll go stretch my legs, tire myself out for tonight.  _

This had roughly become Peters routine for the past four months. His night terrors and panic attacks had become more intense, but less frequent. Seeing and speaking with Quentin seemed to help as much as it harmed. Roughly every ten days, give or take a couple, Peter had been coming around to Quentin’s place. He took Quentin up on his original offering, and began to question the man on how he ended up becoming Mysterio and trying to take down Peter. 

But after the first few serious conversations they had, Peters mental state began deteriorating rapidly. The pattern that began to form was after talking with Quentin, Peter might be able to get one, two if he was really lucky, fairly quiet nights rest. Then he would be hit with severe bouts of panic, his mind convincing him that Quentin was lying, preparing ready to pounce, waiting for Peter to let down his guard and retake EDITH. His mind came up with dozens of new reasons as to why he was just the same stupid child that was trusting the same bloodthirsty villain. 

And then the nightmares had taken on new darker levels of deception and pain. Occasionally Tony Stark would visit him in his mind, sometimes asking why Peter betrayed him and sometimes begging Peter to save him, to prevent his death or keep his memory alive. Other times Quentin would take center stage, either trapping Peter in one of his many endless illusion traps or Peter himself was the villain, and he’d watch his dream self squeeze the life out of Quentin night after night. Unexpectedly more painful though, were the nights where he was snapped out of existence again. His world would disintegrate before his eyes, the memory of the pain he’d felt as his physical form continually collapsed in on itself before eventually losing the fight was so incredibly real he’d wake himself by heaving up his last meal. 

The worst part of it all was the seconds, minutes, even hours he was losing to his poor grasp on reality. Every time he woke up he couldn’t tell if had just happened or if he’d been disassociating in his bed for hours. 

Peter had a strong feeling this was all somehow a result of Quentin’s torturous illusions, that the effects had left a lingering impression on his brain, causing them to reappear and disorientate him, made even worse by having Quentin recount the things he’d done to get to where he was. Part of him wanted to ask Quentin about it, see if he had any insight as to what was happening with his head, as he was the creator of the technology after all. 

The other part of Peter couldn’t bring himself to accuse Quentin of being the cause of this. Over those first few weeks, even though Peter had made a point to keep their meetings short, he found himself enjoying Quentin’s company. 

The man was far from perfect. Peter noticed that while he had every right to dislike Tony Stark, whenever either of them brought him up, Quentin got  _ angry.  _ He clearly had a short temper, and Peter suspected the level of fury he’d seen on the bridge in London wasn’t the first time Quentin had completely lost control of himself. He was also pompous and snarky, and his self confidence could turn to prideful arrogance quickly. 

Despite all that, Peter discovered he found so much more that he liked about him, and they’d somehow become  _ friends _ . So instead of asking Quentin for help with his frequent lapses in mental reasoning, he tried a new line of questioning with the man. 

He began asking him about his personal life. Quentin was a bit taken aback at first, but he had promised Peter that he’d answer all of his questions, and he slowly began to reveal who he was. 

With every visit, Peter became more enthralled with Quentin Beck. He’d originally been from the west coast, eventually moving across the country for college. He’d lost his mother too early in life, who had been his muse and inspired his love of music and theater. Peter realized that he was incredibly uncomfortable with the subject of his father, and he never pressed Quentin for anymore information on him after his response was that he’d been a harsh man, that became even more callous towards his son after the loss of his wife. 

It didn’t take long after Peter started learning more about the man himself for the one way inquiries to become two sided. Peter hardly noticed when more of the questions became directed about him. Quentin was incredibly sympathetic when he learned about Peter's parents dying so young, and then the loss of his Uncle who had been his father figure up until his death when Peter was only thirteen. 

He’d also been torn between fascination and horror upon hearing Peter recount the three long days and nights that followed the spider bite that changed Peter down to his biological make up. 

“How in the  _ hell _ did you manage to pull that off as the flu?” Quentin had asked in disbelief after Peter explained the painful experience of every cell in his body being mutated in order to accommodate his new abilities. 

“I could never lie as a kid, and actually, I still can’t, not if I’m asked for a direct answer,” Peter had started explaining. “May and Ben both knew I couldn’t lie, so they had no reason  _ not  _ to believe me.”

“But why lie at all? Didn’t you think that they could find someone to help you?”

Peter had shaken his head sadly. “I was  _ scared,  _ Quentin. When Mister Stark had come out as Iron Man, the world wouldn’t leave him alone, everyone's eyes were on him. But then, when Doctor Banner lost control, they  _ hunted him.  _ I may have been pretty young when that happened, but I remember just how much the world hated and feared him. And I didn’t want them coming after me…”

Peter had shivered despite the warm temperature in the room. 

“I was scared I’d be locked up in a cage for the rest of my life…”

Soon after, much of both of their lines of questions lead them to the bits of each others lives that included Tony Stark, and neither of them wanted to talk about their mixed emotions concerning the martyr. One night when Peter was leaving after another awkward conversation concerning his once mentor, Quentin asked when he’d be back next. Peter filled him in that his finals were coming up, and he might not be coming around as often. The man invited him to bring his work with him, that he'd even help him study, if he wanted his help, of course. 

Surprising himself, that’s exactly what Peter did. They ended up spending the last handful of visits like this, usually both of them would be settled on the couch, Peter typing away on his laptop or absorbed in a textbook, and Quentin casually reading novels or flicking through channels on the television. They’d found a comfortable routine with one another, it had happened out of nowhere and neither of them was looking to end it. 

It didn’t take long for their casual familiarity with each other to scare Peter in the most unexpected way. 

During his previous visit, Peter had come over after avoiding sleep for two nights straight. His answer to escaping his nightly terrors was to bypass sleeping altogether. He feared visiting Quentin was similar to becoming dependent on medication, but the combination of wanting to see him and needing a few peaceful hours of sleep was always too much of a temptation to pass up for very long. 

Peter had tossed his laptop onto the coffee table, officially giving up on concentrating for the day. Quentin has been watching some movie quietly beside him, but once Peter was clearly too frustrated to think Quentin turned up the volume and pulled Peter closer to him, explaining that this had always been a favorite movie of his and his mothers to watch. 

Within the hour Peter finds himself so loosened up, he’s actually  _ laughing _ at the jokes, genuinely smiling so much his cheeks are sore. He catches Quentin giving him an incredulous look, realizing just how miserable Peter must’ve been to be around up until this moment. He’d forgotten what it feels like to just live, to sit and enjoy a moment like any average person. 

When the credits started rolling, Peter closed his eyes and let his head roll back to rest on the back of the couch, his last laugh still lingering as a smile on his lips. It takes him a second to realize that his head is actually resting on Quentin’s arm that had been thrown behind Peter at some point, but he’s so tired at that moment, he just hopes that it doesn’t bug Quentin too much. It felt good to just exist without overthinking and over worrying. To just  _ be _ . 

Peter had slipped into that grey area between awake and sleep, only barely clinging to his surroundings. The song playing over the movie credits was soft and soothing, and Peter was nearly falling asleep to them. He felt his body lean sideways into the couch, seconds away from drifting off when a low voice joined the singing coming from the television. The new voice was deep and comforting, and warmed Peter from the inside. And he thinks he would’ve dozed off completely if he hadn’t felt the couch shifting beneath him. 

Peters eyes fluttered open, he was closer to Quentin than he last remembered, and as he watched the man's profile in a daze, Peter realized that  _ he  _ was the one who had started singing along. And, it hadn’t been the couch that shifted, Peter had slipped into Quentin’s side, leaning heavily against his chest. It had been his subtle breathing that had gently stirred Peter back awake. 

He watched Quentin for the next few moments, unmoving, almost hypnotized by this version of the man. In all the time Peter had spent in this apartment with him, this was the first time he was seeing him with all his guards and walls down. This was the  _ real Quentin, _ and something in Peter shifted as he watched his lips form around the soft song leaving them. He’d never hated the man, as much as he had wanted, Peter had come to accept that. But now, he found himself feeling something even more intense… 

The credits finished rolling then, ending the song. Quentin sighed softly and glanced down at peter, doing a double take when he was that he was staring back up at him. Peter blinked, shaking his head out of the trance he fell into while sitting back up and off of Quentin. 

“Sorry, I must’ve dozed off there,” Peter said awkwardly, looking pointedly away from Quentin and the curious look of surprise that was on his face. 

“Something’s been up with you lately, Pete,” Quentin said after a pause, the statement making Peter’s heart start racing. “Something more than your school work, or me even. Are you doing alright?”

Peter could feel his eyes go wide, and he shook his head, not needing Quentin to see his reaction. He had never divulged anything about his poor state of mind to the man, but he was clearly slipping. If Quentin was noticing Peter acting out of the ordinary, everyone else could too. 

“I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me,” Peter said lamely, hearing the lie in his voice. Part of him wanting to tell Quentin everything, to let him in on just how shitty he felt every night except for the nights when Peter saw  _ him _ . But the other part of Peter didn’t want to see the guilt in Quentin’s eyes, for him to realize the truth of how much damage he’d really done. 

It wasn’t long after that Peter had left and headed back home, interrogating himself on why he was feeling so protective of Quentin’s feelings. He didn’t owe him that courtesy, that was for sure. And it wasn’t until much later, when Peter woke up to dreams of Quentin singing softly in his head, that he had a new realization. 

He’d spent the last nine days trying to convince himself that he was suffering from some weird form of Stockholm Syndrome. He was just sympathizing with Quentin, the man had been through a lot and Peter was just a compassionate person. That was it.  _ That had to be it.  _ The idea of Peter having more serious feelings towards his former adversary was too much for his already broken mind to consider. 

And now, in the present, Peter watches Quentin as he crosses in front of him picking up the dirty plates from their lunch earlier.  _ He’s really too attractive to just be holed up here with only me for company,  _ Peter thinks to himself.  _ Anyone can recognize that. Even I’m allowed to  _ appreciate _ how good he looks…  _

Peter sighed, catching Quentin’s attention. He quickly shook his head, waving the man's concern off with excuses of being tired, maybe needing to call it early today. Peter had been ending his last few ventures out to Quentin’s with patrolling the city under the cover at night. Chasing down a few petty thieves and possibly preventing a couple robberies weren’t much, but it felt good for Peter’s well being to be doing what he truly loved most. 

“You going home then?” Quentin asked with a raised brow as he glanced towards the sunlight still pouring through the window. “It’s still a touch bright out for hero business, don’t you think?”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” Peter replied as he rose lightly from the couch. “You know it’s just easier for me to get from one side of the city to the other in the suit. No one is going to be paying attention to me.”

He caught Quentin’s frown as he bent over to stuff his laptop into his bag and pulled out his red and blue suit. It wasn’t the first time Quentin had expressed concern over Peter continuing to do hero work while he was a wanted man. Quentin had pressed it too hard one time and Peter had snapped back, asking in a bitter tone exactly who’s fault it was that Peter was being sought after by multiple governments to be extradited for a crime he didn’t commit. 

He had ended up apologizing to Quentin for that outburst, quickly jumping out the window to avoid having to hear Quentin telling him to stop apologizing. Peter couldn’t stop apologizing for any little thing he did that filled Quentin’s eyes with guilt and regret and he didn’t know  _ why  _ and it bothered him just as much as it seemed to bother Quentin.

“Yeah, who would pay attention to your skinny butt swinging around the city, throwing webs everywhere like some overgrown bug,” Quentin surprised Peter with his joking tone. 

“Overgrown  _ arachnid,” _ Peter corrected with a laugh, glad that neither of them were treading into more tense or awkward territory before he took off. Peter always got an extra night or two of sleep if they parted on good terms. 

“Whatever you say, Spider-Kid,” Quentin put a hand in Peter’s hair, mussing it before gently pushing him towards the direction of the bathroom. “Go on then, put your flashy onesie on.”

Walking down the short hallway backwards, Peter rolled his eyes at the man. “You’re one time be talking about flashy, I wasn't the one who chose  _ gold garters,” _

He laughed at Quentin’s muffled protests from behind the closed bathroom door as he dressed down and got his suit on. He briefly attempted to smooth down his now wild curls, before realizing it was pointless. He’d be in a mask the rest of the day, no one would care if he looked like a mess. 

Peter found Quentin lounging on the couch as he entered the room again to collect his things. He slung his backpack over his shoulders before leaning over the back of the couch. 

“Don’t have too much fun out there, kiddo,” Quentin turns to Peter, their faces unexpectedly inches apart. Peter watched Quentin’s blue eyes widen, before settling back into his usual self-assured demeanor. “I’d hate to hear of anyone giving you more trouble than me.”

“I’ll keep the fun to a minimum, promise,” Peter replies with a smirk. Then his breath hitched in his chest as Quentin raised his eyebrows at him in an unspoken question, his head moving just the smallest fraction closer. His sixth sense suddenly tingled in the back of his mind, not in danger, but in sudden  _ anticipation _ . 

Then Quentin was clearing his throat, a tense smile appearing around an awkward laugh. Peter immediately pulled away, standing stock straight and not knowing whether to feel embarrassed or relieved that the moment had passed. 

“Yeah, uh, I’ll be fine out there,” Peter tried to continue as normally as possible, as he not so casually started backing up towards the window that was his constant emergency exit when he found himself needing to avoid whatever situation he had gotten himself into that time. 

He had his hand on the sill, about to open his escape when Quentin called his name. Looking back, he saw that Quentin had turned around as much as the couch would allow him so he could watch Peter leave. 

“Come back soon, okay kid?” Quentin requested. His tone was light, giving no indication that something was awry. But Peter thought he could see some sort of unease in the way Quentin’s lips were set. 

_ Why are you focusing on his mouth, get a hold of yourself,  _ Peter mentally berated himself. 

“I’ll try, Quentin. Soon as I can,” Peter promised before forcing himself to leave. That promise had come too easily and he was internally starting to freak out just how much he wanted to keep it. 

_ Time to go, just keep moving you idiot,  _ Peter’s internal monologue started up again, the one that forced him back in the direction of Headquarters and away from Quentin. Conflicted feelings for the man aside, Peter knew he couldn’t risk spending all of his time there. Freedom or no, eventually someone would want to know where he kept disappearing to if he was gone for too long. He’d made it a point to make sure he was seen around the complex, and that he was at least acting like a functioning person. 

The more he appeared to be the normal Peter Parker everyone expected him to be, the chances of someone looking too deep into his secret ventures lessened significantly. 

Peter hadn’t made it far when something pricked at his spidey sense, something far off, but still close enough that it caused the skin on the back of his neck to tingle unpleasantly. He hesitated for only the briefest moment before redirecting his movement towards the source of whatever possible danger might be waiting for him. 

Peter soon realized he was approaching one of the main hubs of the city, Times Square, and with all the noise he was hearing, there had to be some sort of rally or protest going on. Voices from a crowd were slowly growing louder as Peter continued his approach, fearing the ever growing sense of dread was the possibility that there could be some sort of massive attack. 

But as a loud, nightmarishly familiar voice rang out over a speaker system, the alarms in his head for his own safety started going off wildly. His mind was trying to block out the words that had been haunting him, and his body screamed at him to turn around, but his dark curiosity got the better of him. He swung around another block, landing silently on a traffic light to watch the crowd before him. 

Playing on a handful of the giant screens that surround the area, Mysterio’s final message to the world rang out around him. His accusations and lies once again spilling from his blood stained lips and out into the world. But this time, instead of the hushed gasps of shock and unbelievable surprise, the crowd watching was cheering him on, calling out his name and praising his memory. Peter tore his eyes away from the LED screen across from him, scanning the mob below. There weren't that many people there, possibly only a hundred or so that were actually rallying behind Mysterio’s message. But those people were also calling out for Spider-Man to be brought to justice. 

They wanted Peter Parker’s head. 

And once his name was revealed by Mysterio, the crowd went savage, throwing various items up at the screens that displayed his face. Desperate for an answer as to why they had this damning video playing on repeats again, Peter started scanning the rolling headlines at the bottom of the feed. 

He’d been so occupied with learning about Quentin and focus on school, Peter hadn’t realized that they’d slipped into June, that the one year anniversary of Mysterio’s death was only a couple weeks away. 

Peter felt sick, things had finally begun to calm down, the city wasn’t accusing him any longer, the citizens weren’t shouting obscenities at him and they were grateful these past few weeks to see Spider-Man in the neighborhood again. But  _ this,  _ this would erase any progress that time had begun to heal. Peter would end up spiraling back down to rock bottom, if not even lower. Hopelessness threatened to swallow him right where he was perched at that very moment. 

“Hey! Spider-Man!” A voice rang out above the roar of the crowd, drawing Peter out of his mental spin. Peter looked for the source of the voice, and just barely registered a man aiming a heavy handgun right at him. 

Instinct kicked in just in time, his legs pushing him out of the way of the fired bullet in time for him to hear it fly past his head. Peter was quick, quicker than any other human, but the laws of physics still applied. The crowd burst into screams and chaos, people were trampling in every direction at the sound of the weapon in such a crowded area. The shooter let off another shot, this one flying wildly off target. Before he could pull the trigger a third time, Peter shot off a series of webs, pinning the man to the ground and incapacitating him for the moment. 

Peter knew better than to feel relieved though. A handful of people figured out too quickly who the man was shooting at, and they were already running over to the shooters aid, cursing Peter and they ran, accusing him of trying to take out another innocent hero. 

_ I need to go, and now.  _ The voice inside Peter’s head started to repeat and urge his body back into motion. There was nothing he could do here, not one thing that would rectify the situation.  _ Nothing  _ that would save his name. 

He finally swung away, the voices calling out for his blood lingering in his mind long after they were out of ear shot. When he was nearly out of the city proper, he paused on the edge of a warehouse building, his head swimming with nausea and pain. And the once voice that boomed louder than all the others in his head was the source of his anguish. 

He hadn’t been hit by either bullet, but a large part of him wishes he had. Death had to be preferable to this. His heart was aching with the torture of his emotional conflict. He’d just watched Mysterio, Quentin Beck, a man he learned to trust all over, publicly damn him all over again, cursing him to a life of being hunted until he was finally caught or killed. The realization that his life was essentially over at seventeen was hitting him harder than the speeding train in Germany had. 

As Peter clutched at his sides, trying to hold himself from breaking into pieces, he hated himself even more. Because the only person his heart was calling out for comfort from at that moment was the same person that had condemned him to this hell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels were caught and they were immediately made sad :/
> 
> Sorry for the wait! Real life and such happens ya know, but I’ve revisited the outline and I’ve got things set up for the next chapter so keep your fingies crossed that the words and the brain cooperates! 
> 
> Thank you as always for sticking around to read my word vomit, it warms my tiny spidey heart! 
> 
> Nice comments are always welcomed and appreciated here <3


	11. Chapter 11

“Hey kid, you alright?” Bucky asked, the concern in his usually stoic voice apparent. Peter was grateful he wasn’t gushing over him like May had earlier, concerned or not it would’ve been too much to handle. “I heard what happened earlier, well, saw it on the news actually.”

A couple hours after Peter made it home following the incident in the city and Bucky had come to check in on him. Peter knew he’d been out of the state doing some sort of Avengers work and he must’ve rushed back. Peter was a mix of embarrassed and grateful, if he’d been operating on his own like he’d been a couple years back, he would’ve been dealing with the aftermath alone. It was strangely reassuring, knowing that Bucky, of all the heros here, was the one that cared enough to ask. 

“I’ll survive,” Peter replied, slumped awkwardly up against his desk, not knowing what else to say. That he was still having to concentrate on not shaking from the surge of adrenaline and fear? That he wanted to never sleep again, knowing that new nightmares were waiting for him? That every part of his body physically hurt with the emotional burden of being him?

“I didn’t ask if you were surviving, I asked if you were alright.” Bucky retorted with a bit more force in his voice. He leaned against the frame of the door, clearly indicating he wasn’t leaving until he got a proper answer from Peter. “You know there’s people you can talk to here. Others that have been chased down by multiple world governments with false accusations of murder. You’re not as alone as you think you are, Parker.”

Peter looked up at Bucky, seeing his willingness to listen to his problems. He was right, and Peter felt like an idiot for not connecting the dots sooner. Bucky had been accused of bombing the location of the signing of the Sokovia Accords. He’d been hunted, caught, imprisoned, brainwashed, and nearly killed. And Peter had been roped into being one of the people tasked with capturing him. Of course at the time, Peter had only been given minimal information from Tony, that Bucky needed help but refused to take it. God, he’d been  _ so stupid _ to blindly follow Tony’s crusade. 

It was that line of thought that gave Peter pause. 

“Bucky, can I ask you a question? A kinda personal one?”

Bucky only raised an eyebrow in question before nodding for Peter to go ahead. 

“Was Mister Stark a bad guy?” The last two words caught in his throat. He hated even thinking that this could be true, but Tony's shadow wasn’t going to stop looming over him by ignoring the truth, no matter how much he didn’t want to know it. 

Bucky frowned, his brows pulled down in confusion. This hadn’t been at all what he expected Peter to ask. 

“I might not be the best authority on Stark, we had a complicated history, you know that.”

“See, that’s why I’m asking you,” Peter insisted. “Anyone else would only give me the answer I want to hear, not the truth.”

“Stark was,” Bucky paused sighing heavily and crossing his arms across his chest. “...difficult . He was arrogant, self assured, stubborn, all the things I really can’t stand in a person. First time I met him I was trying to kill him. Not that it was really  _ me _ , but, that’s how things started with us. Soon after Stark was then trying to kill me, which didn’t really make either of us want to pursue a friendship, no matter how justified he may have been.”

Bucky shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mouth turned down in thought. “Stark went through a lot in his life. He had a name he didn’t think he could live up to, so he tried rebranding it by being smarter and creating an unforgettable reputation wherever he went. But then, when he got thrown into the line of fire, he took that damned pride and used it to pull himself out.”

“Tony Stark was many things, Parker.” Bucky nodded slowly. “But a bad guy wasn’t one of them. He fucked up, more than a man with his level of responsibilities and freedoms should’ve been allowed too, but he did try fixing his mistakes. He didn’t have the right answers too much of the time, but he at least tried. That’s what I know about Stark, that he wasn’t a quitter.”

Peter dropped his eyes, now staring at his fidgeting hands. He couldn’t decide if hearing all that made him feel better or worse. 

“People don’t have to be only good or only bad,” Bucky interrupted his thoughts. “I’ve done a lot of unforgivable things in my life, and yet I’m here now. Stark was never perfect, and he made his regrettable mistakes too. But he died a hero, don’t you doubt that. People deserve redemption, even the worst of us.”

At that statement, Peter’s stomach flipped over.  _ Even the worst of us?  _ Peter repeated to himself, the irony of that statement was painful. 

“Anyone deserves redemption?” Peter asked low, though his thoughts were focused on only one man. 

“There’s always going to be exceptions to the rules, but yeah, I’d wager anyone could redeem themselves if they truly had made a change. Even Stark.”

The two were silent for a moment, Peter thankful that Bucky was giving him a chance to sort out his thoughts. Bucky couldn’t know who Peter was asking for, but maybe he would  _ understand _ . Bucky knew what it was like, to be misunderstood, to have been the bad guy but only because he had to? He didn’t have a choice? Peter knew that both men had two very different backstories, had walked different paths and were currently in different situations. But maybe, Bucky could see where Quentin had come from. Peter certainly did, and  _ he _ was the one who had been at the end of his gun. 

“Did you forgive Tony?” Peter asked quietly, knowing that was the more invasive personal question here. He hoped he hadn’t pushed his limits too far. 

“Was that what you really wanted to ask?” Bucky raised an eyebrow at Peter, skepticism heavy in his tone. When Peter didn’t answer after a beat, he sighed. 

“Do you want to forgive Quentin Beck?”

Peter felt his eyes widen as he breathed in a surprised gasp. Had he really been that easy to read? And did that mean Bucky had an idea that the man was still alive to be forgiven?

“I know forgiving a dead man might seem pointless-”

_ Well, that shelved one concern for now- _

“-and that you were betrayed by him in the worst ways. The consequences of his actions are going to stick with you for a long time, kid. But that doesn’t mean you’ve got to carry the weight of holding onto a grudge against him. Letting go is  _ not _ easy, I can’t do it most of the time, but it’ll be easier to take the next steps if you don’t have his ghost haunting you along the way.”

He didn’t know at what point it happened, but Peter found his arms wrapped around his torso again. It wasn’t the same type of hurt that he had felt not too long ago as he tried to escape the city, but a burning ache that he knew was the precursor to the decision he was going to have to make sooner rather than later. Peter took a deep breath, trying to hold it together until Bucky left. 

“I’ll… Thanks, Bucky. For everything,” Peter was finally able to get out, truly grateful to the man. He didn’t have any easy choices ahead of him but talking to the Soldier had helped him more than he ever would’ve guessed. “I still don’t know what I’ll do, but, this helped, with a lot.”

“Don’t mention it, kid. You’re family here, and we all need help sometimes, understand?”

Peter nodded, then Bucky stood straight before continuing. 

“I need you to lay low, okay?” Peter could see that Bucky didn't want to ask this of him, though that sympathy did little to still the fear now rising in his heart that he’d be trapped here again. “I don’t want to take your freedom away Peter, you didn’t do anything wrong and I don’t want you to feel like you're being punished, but we can’t lose you. Your Aunt can’t, and the rest of the team can’t, understand? Life hasn’t been fair to you, and I do understand that more than you know, but remember we  _ are _ family. As broken and messed up as it is. We don’t want to see you get hurt beyond what can be fixed.”

“Yeah, I get that. I won’t leave,” Peter sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing. Bucky was right and he should avoid being spotted again until this mess with Mysterio’s death had died down again. If anyone else got ideas like the random man in the square today had, the risk of someone innocent getting hurt rose with every excursion Peter took into the city. 

“Come on kid, it’ll just be a couple weeks, tops,” Bucky tried to reassure him as he opened the door and started to head out. “Taking some time off to relax won't kill you. You’ll be back out causing trouble with your friends again before you know it.”

With one last nod, Bucky was gone and Peter was left alone with his thoughts. 

**************

As the sun began to filter in through the one window in the room, Peter turned onto his side to watch the sun rise again. It was his third day of not sleeping, dreams of gunshots heard from the back of his skull had become too much to risk revisiting every night. Normally the continued lack of sleep would depress him even more than he already was, but it was also the day he could finally leave headquarters again. He was more than excited to finally be able to not have to fake being okay around other people for once. But, on the other hand, he still hadn’t come to a decision about Quentin Beck. 

To have the ability to forgive and forget would’ve made the decision so simple, so  _ easy.  _ But of course, Peter rarely had anything easy handed to him to handle. No matter how much he’d want to, the results of Quentin’s decisions would follow Peter for years, if not forever. His identity had been revealed to the  _ whole world.  _ Peter would never be able to go out in public like a normal kid anymore. The second he was recognized he’d have to disappear, abandoning whatever or whoever he was with to avoid confrontations. 

Then there was the murder accusation. Somebody higher up on the Avengers team had worked it out that Peter was not to be pursued here, that there had been no proof that he’d done anything wrong except for a dead man's words. But outside of the states, he was still wanted for a list of charges, Quentin’s death being at the top of that list. His first real vacation and he’d become a murder suspect. So traveling was basically out for the foreseeable future. 

There was that small voice in the back of Peter’s head, reminding him that the latter could be forgiven if Quentin turned himself in. The thought made Peter’s stomach turn instantly. The option presenting itself on that first night after the incident in the city, if he came out as alive and told the world the truth, Peter would be completely absolved of any wrongdoing. Quentin could never make the world forget that Spider-Man was Peter Parker, but plenty of hero’s had their identities known and their lives had kept going on. 

But Peter could never ask that of Quentin. The consequences of him coming out with the truth would be too much. Joining his queue of night terrors now were imaginings of Quentin locked away in a cold, sterile cell of SHIELDs, caged and forgotten for the rest of his life. 

Peter had another problem to deal with now too. After a nightmare of Quentin being dragged away in chains and followed by Peter waking up and calling out for him, he’d finally allowed himself to really look at these feelings he had built up for the man. And in the past couple weeks, Peter accepted a hard truth. 

Beyond all rational reasoning, Peter had fallen for Quentin Beck. 

And he knew it wasn’t completely out of nowhere either, which made it even more frustrating that he was caught so off guard by the realization of it. When he’d first met Quentin back in Venice, Peter had been surprised by the handsome face behind the dome. Quentin Beck had a striking presence about him, and it hadn’t been the first time Peter had found himself feeling a little more than attracted to an older man. But Peter knew immediately nothing would come of it,  _ Mysterio  _ definitely wouldn’t be looking for the affections of a kid like him. So Peter looked and imagined from a distance and left it at that. Shortly after, when he found out that Quentin was actually the bad guy behind everything, any thoughts of fondness for him had disappeared completely. 

Or at least that what Peter thought happened. 

In reality those thoughts had stayed buried in Peter's head, and he had dug them up and finally accepted that they’d become more than just captivation caused by a pretty face. Peter cared about Quentin. He found himself distracted with thoughts about the man everyday, wondering how he was doing, if he’d heard the incident Peter had been involved with, if he was worried about Peter's continued absence…

Peter wished he had some way to contact the man. And it’s not like he hadn’t tried to use his resources to find a way to. But Quentin has done his job correctly, and as far as all the databases he had access to knew, he didn’t exist any more. 

_ What would I even say to him?  _ Peter asked himself for the hundredth time.  _ I don’t even know what I want to do with all these feelings…. _

And now that the day has come when he could finally leave the confines of headquarters and he still didn’t know what he was going to  _ do.  _ Was he going to go back to Quentin’s? Probably. Quentin had become his only answer to subduing his nightmares and he couldn’t give that up. But he really shouldn’t go back, there no way he was going to move past this stupid crush or whatever it was if he kept going right back to him. 

... _ But do I want to get over Quentin?  _

Peter had thought this to himself multiple times now. He thought he did, there was no point in pining over Quentin because, well, there was no way that Quentin would feel the same about him. And they could never really be together, Peter was a known superhuman and Quentin was technically dead to the world, the two of them couldn’t exactly hold hands and stroll downstreet together. And that fact hurt like hell, knowing that Peter had lost one more potential partner before a relationship could even be conceived. He felt ridiculous, being on the verge of heartbreak over a person who he should be handing over to the authorities and never thinking about again. 

But, here he was, lying in bed staring at the brightening sky outside his window, wondering if he could continue seeing Quentin Beck without his heart falling to pieces in the long run. 

After a few more hours of unproductive contemplation, Peter did drag himself out of bed. He showered and dressed, taking an unusually long amount of time to get ready, then he kept going between wanting to get out and stalling unnecessarily because leaving would mean he’d have to make a decision about Quentin. 

He left his room to eat a quiet breakfast in the common area. Most of the residents weren’t currently in the building, and Peter was grateful to have the majority of the place to himself. Solitude meant not having to fake that he was struggling with the fact that he was enamored with his once nemesis. 

Peter was at the sink rinsing out his bowl when he heard footsteps coming down the hall towards him. He turned his head and watched and Bucky walked into the kitchen, looking like he had expected Peter to be there. While he wasn’t in the mood for socializing with anyone that lived here, he was grateful it was the soldier over any of the other residents who’d appeared. 

“Looks like you’re eager to escape today, you’re not usually up this early Parker,” Bucky stated as he walked past Peter and towards the large pantry. “You got a game plan?” 

“Um yeah, I do,” Peter replied nervously. He knew that Bucky believed he was heading to a friend's place, but it didn’t make lying to him seem any less deadly. “May was going to drive me into the city later today. And I’ll wait until night before heading back, like I used to. Use the dark as my cover.”

Bucky nodded in approval as he searched the cupboards. “Sounds good kid, keep your head down, don’t go flashing the suit around during the day, you should be fine.”

Peter couldn’t believe his luck, it seemed he was going to get out today without too much scrutiny. He was just placing his now clean dishes away when Bucky spoke up again. 

“You know, Parker,” Bucky hesitated, and Peter could tell that he really didn’t want to say anything. He immediately had a bad feeling about it. “Not that it’s any of my business, and I’m not going to stop you from leaving as long as it’s safe to do it, but… you’re allowed to invite your girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever over here if you want.”

“My  _ what?”  _ Peter blurted out, then immediately snapped his mouth shut, the internal panic startling to bubble up.  _ What does that mean?! _

“Listen I don’t judge,” Bucky continued, still adimentally not looking at Peter. “I just…get the impression you’re seeing someone important to you, and they’re more than welcome here if you want to play it safe. Just give me a heads up alright? I’ll get them clearance.Just think about it okay? And don’t get yourself into too much trouble today.”

Bucky didn’t wait for a response and swiftly retreated without actually taking anything from the kitchen with him, leaving Peter standing there dumbstruck. He didn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of him bringing over his current source of pinning  _ into the Avengers Headquarters,  _ or to panic over the fact that Bucky suspected that he was having some sort of romantic rendezvous every time he left the building. 

_ Okay now I’m giving myself too much credit,  _ Peter scolded himself, rolling his eyes.  _ There’s nothing romantic going on. It’s all one-sided. And you didn’t even admit to these feelings until after the last time you saw Quentin. Bucky is just… covering his bases, that’s all.  _

No matter how much Peter tried telling himself that there was no way Bucky could suspect exactly where Peter had been spending his time, he couldn’t shake the feeling that  _ something _ was going on. On the way back to his room, Peter text May, asking they could postpone their trip into the city for a couple more hours. Once back in his room, Peter opened up his laptop, and started doing some digging into the Avengers security systems. 

*************

“Peter, please be  _ safe _ ,” May had grabbed his hand as he started exiting the car. Peter had his hand on the handle of the door, but kept it closed, looking back at his Aunt, hating that he kept putting her into these situations. “I know you need your freedom, but please don’t do anything that’s going to get you hurt.”

Peter kept his eyes on hers, wishing he knew what to say to her. Before leaving Headquarters, Peter took some  _ precautions.  _ Those precautions though put Peter in a place he knew May wouldn’t approve of. Not yet at least. Maybe someday she’d understand why he took so much responsibility upon himself and didn’t let anyone else in to help. 

“May, do you trust me?” The words were out of Peters mouth before he could stop himself, but he suddenly  _ needed _ to know she was on his side. 

“Peter of course I do, what are you-”

Peter reached across the center console and hugged her, trying to convey all the things he couldn’t say to her. That he’d been hiding a villain, that he’d started having feelings for said villain, and that he kept lying to her when she didn’t deserve any of it. He didn’t know how, but he wanted to make things right between the two of them again. 

“What is going on with you?” May asked softly, patting him on the back. “Ever since last summer, you’ve been so different, so _ sad.  _ And I get it, you went through too much, but I’m worried about you not getting better. You know I only want the best for you, right?”

“I know,” Peter reassured her, pulling away. “I don’t know exactly how to fix me, but can you trust that I am trying to figure it out?”

May touched his face, her face full of worry but her eyes holding a gleam of hope for him. 

“But you can't tell me what you’re doing.” It wasn't a question. May sighed, and gave Peter a half smile. “Are you sure this isn’t going to make things worse?”

Peter laughed at that. 

“No, I’m not sure this will work out at all, but I’ve got some hope it will,” Peter touched her hand before reaching for the door handle again. “What I’m doing, I don’t think the Avengers team would be too thrilled about, and I don’t want you in the middle of it. I don’t need you getting wrapped up in all this too.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” May have him a look, not that she was really angry with him at being uprooted. “Just…can you promise me you’ll give me a heads up before you do anything drastic, like going off into space again, or, disappearing?”

“Yeah, of course I will,” Peter gave her his best smile, trying to hide how guilty he felt. Once again, at the end of the day, no matter how hard Peter was trying to keep May out of the superhero world, she was the one that had to deal with the consequences. “Promise you’ll be the first to know of my next off planet trip.”

May gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before he escaped out onto the sidewalk and into the city. He pulled down the baseball hat he decided to wear, figuring it might help him blend in. It wasn’t much but it was less conspicuous than his bright red suit. 

May had dropped him off at a random address in Manhattan without question, which allowed him to only have to walk a few blocks to Quentin’s. He did his best not glance around nervously at everyone passing by him, but casual indifference was never a talent of his. Instead he kept his hands wrapped around his backpack straps, his head down, and did his best to not draw attention to himself. 

When he reached the building, there was far too much foot traffic on the street level for him to easily swing up to Quentin’s balcony like he usually would. So Peter opted for the strangely regular option of going to his front door. He slid in with another resident to get in through the locked entry door, then took the stairs up to his floor. Peter easily took the stairs three at a time, knowing that Quentin had cameras all over the building and idly wondering if he saw him coming. 

It wasn’t long before Peter was exiting the stairwell, then slowed his pace as he strode down the hall to Quentin’s door at the end. Once reaching it, he stood there for a moment, his hand raised to knock, but unmoving. He still didn’t know what he should do. Tell Quentin he was never coming back after this? Or keep coming back until his heart either broke or was numb to the effects Quentin had on it?

The door then flew open, Quentin standing in the doorframe, his blue eyes wide in disbelief, a thick lock of hair had fallen over onto his forehead. 

“Peter?” Quentin gasped, but before Peter could reply the man had grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug against his chest, knocking off his hat and the air out of his lungs. 

Half a year ago if Quentin had attempted this Peter was positive he would’ve attacked the man in response, fighting his way out of dangerous hands. But now, Peter wrapped his arms around Quentin’s waist, pulling himself tighter against the man, wanting to forget everything except the feeling of Quentin practically encasing him. 

“I didn’t think you would come back,” Quentin whispered into Peter’s hair, the underlying worry in his tone making Peter ache, wishing he’d found a way to contact him sooner. “I didn’t blame you for it, but I never got to…”

Quentin trailed off, taking a deep breath and releasing it, making Peters hair flutter slightly. He hesitantly pulled himself off of Peter, holding him by the shoulders. 

“Do you want to come in?” Quentin asked. It was the most unsure Peter had ever heard him in all the time they’d spent together. 

“Well yeah, that’s why I’m here,” Peter couldn’t help smiling up at Quentin while raising his eyebrows in question. 

Quentin let him go and moved aside to give Peter room to walk by. He heard the door clock shut behind him as he entered the living room, it looked the same as it always did, but Peter felt unexpectedly awkward standing here, unsure of what he came here to say. He turned when sensed Quentin close behind him, taking in the man properly. He had dark circles under his eyes, and Peter was sure his cheeks looked a little hollow compared to the last time he’d seen him. His hair wasn’t exactly disheveled, but it definitely didn’t have the usual style and natural grace Quentin achieved with it. Peter was positive that the man had had more than just a few bad nights of sleep, just like Peter had. 

“I watched it on the news,” Quented began, taking another step towards Peter. “They had gotten a hold of plent of cell phone videos to show it happening at a dozen different angles. Peter, why were you there in the first place? Didn’t you think it wouldn’t be safe?”

“I’d lost track of the date,” Peter admitted, looking down and away from Quentin. “I would’ve left sooner if I realized it, but I couldn’t figure out why the footage was being played again… I got distracted, and well, that’s when the shooting started…”

Peter wrapped an arm around his torso, the feeling of falling apart creeping in again. 

“...Listen, I’ve had to talk about this so much these past couple weeks and,” Peter looked back up at Quentin desperately. “I just really need a break from it all… I’m not doing great, Quentin, if you couldn’t already tell.”

Quentin’s brows drew together, his expression oddly unreadable to Peter. After a beat he closed the distance between them, putting his arm around Peters shoulders. 

“Alright, come on let’s find you a distraction then,” Quentin took Peters backpack from him then lead him over to the couch where he pulled him close into his side before browsing for a movie. Peter appreciated the fact Quentin went straight to a streaming service and avoided the regular cable channels, where there would undoubtedly be multiple news stations reporting on the story of how Spider-Man killed earth's new hero in London. 

Quentin didn’t mention it, and Peter wouldn’t bring it up either, but he knew that they were both aware of the significance of today’s date. It had been exactly one year since their fight in London, one year since Quentin held a gun to Peter's head, one year since Peter believed himself to have essentially killed Quentin… 

Neither of them spoke much for the entirety of the afternoon as it bleed into night. Peter let Quentin pick the handful movies they watched, all were musicals, and they sat amicably together, laughing at the jokes, Peter once tearing up silently at a character death, Quentin singing along more than a few times. 

After the second movie, Quentin got up and made them dinner. Peter had turned around on the couch and watched him as he worked his way around the kitchen. He asked if Quentin wanted help, but the man just shook his head, saying that he enjoyed cooking and rarely got a chance to do it for anyone else but himself. 

It wasn’t the first time Quentin had made something for him, but in the past it had always been delicious but simple. Tonight Quentin made them a whole spread. Perfect pasta covered in a wonderfully seasoned tomato sauce he made from scratch, with huge meatballs that Peter watched Quentin hand roll before cooking them up. He cut through a thick French loaf, buttering it up and covering it with fresh chopped garlic before roasting them to perfection in the oven. 

Peter had eaten spaghetti before of course, but it was never like _this. _Quentin brought over the bowl to Peter, heavy and filled to its absolute limit. After thanking him, Peter tried a forkful and couldn’t help but groan in satisfaction it tasted so good. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Quentin smile in satisfaction at his enthusiasm.

As Peter mopped up the last remnants of his bowl with his last bit of bread, he could help but imagine if this was his life. Sitting side by side with Quentin, dinner every night on the couch while they relaxed and just existed together. It could be nice. 

Holding back a sigh, Peter finished his last bite, knowing that reality wasn’t within his grasp. Quentin would have to reciprocate the same feelings Peter had, and he  _ knew  _ that wasn’t going to happen. Sure, tonight Quentin had seemed more than just relieved that Peter had survived the attack  _ and _ that he came back to his place, but that couldn’t be more than the guilt of knowing that he had caused this whole situation. Peter had never been good at reading signs, and every soft touch or lingering gaze had only been Quentin trying to make up for what he’d done before. Peter was just a one time rival to him, a friend at best. 

Peter placed his empty bowl on the table and leaned back into Quentin’s side. After tonight he’d stop coming back. He couldn’t live with the heartache that would come with him having to sit next to Quentin everyday, seeing exactly everything he suddenly needed and everything he absolutely could not have. No matter what Peter did, he couldn’t change the fact that Quentin just wouldn’t see him in that way. The man would’ve analyzed the risk, on the small chance he’d even considered the absurdity of them, and he was too young, too damaged, too wrapped up in the mess that was the Avengers, and too wrong for Quentin. 

But for tonight, Peter would sit here next to Quentin and pretend that this was his reality. Just for a little longer. Then he’d tell Quentin he didn’t to worry about Peter any longer, that he was off the hook,  _ forgiven _ , and that he wouldn’t be coming back. And he’d leave. He knew he was giving up his one relief to his recurring demons, but he hoped forgiveness would be a step in the right direction to just letting this whole thing go. 

Peter wiped at his cheek, unaware of when tears had started escaping his eyes. Quentin, who had his arm relaxed over Peters shoulders, noticed the motion and immediately sat up when he saw the tears. 

“Peter? Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked gently, removing the arm that was around Peter to turn and look at him properly. 

“Nothing, I’m sorry,” Peter shook his head, trying to clear it. This isn’t how he wanted to spend his last time seeing Quentin at all. He sniffed once and re-steadied himself. “I’m just tired, have a lot going on in my head is all.”

When Peter looked up at Quentin there was so much concern in his eyes, so much worry and distress. Peter could almost believe that actually cared about him. 

“Should you head home, before it gets too late?” Quentin sounded like it pained him to ask, but being the adult here he needed too. 

“I don’t want to go back there yet…” he whispered and shook his head, feeling even more like the dumb kid he knew he was. He wanted to confess to Quentin all about the nightmare and terrors, his panic attacks and constant anxiety about his future. And that every time he left the safety of Quentin all of his demons started to swarm him. But he could not put that burden on Quentin, not when he was about to disappear from his life. 

“...Would anyone come looking for you if you stayed?” Quentin asked softly, pulling Peter out of his thoughts. 

Peter looked up at Quentin, the man's face once again unreadable. He knew no one would worry after one night. Peter knew better than to stay though, he needed to cut himself off from Quentin, not let his feelings spiral even more out of control.

_ I need to leave,  _ is what Peter told himself.

“Can I stay?” Is what Peter heard himself say. 

“Of course, kid,” Quentin gave him a small nod, his hand grasping Peters shoulder before making a move to stand up. “I’ll get the bed set for you-”

“Wait!” Peter said, too loudly, as he held onto Quentin’s wrist to stop him from leaving. He cleared his throat as Quentin raised his eyebrows at him. “Don’t go, not yet. Please.”

Quentin smiles at him, and the gesture immediately quiets Peters weeping heart. 

“I’m not going anywhere kid,” the man put his arms around Peter’s shoulders and pulled him back into his side. “Let’s get back to distracting you, sound good?”

Peter nodded, then let his head fall onto Quentin’s chest. He let his eyes close, while listening to the drone of the television mix with the steady beat of Quentin’s heart. He felt a hand settle softly onto his head, fingers gently weaving into his curls. 

_ Don’t fall asleep,  _ he told himself, as he felt himself begin to drift off. 

_ You’re only allowed to pretend for so long…  _

**************

_ Peter stares down at Beck, bloody and broken, barely able to hold his torso upright. His bloodstained lips moving around words Peter’s only half listening to as he holds out EDITH in defeat.  _

_ But Peter  _ knows.  _ And he’s ready.  _

_ At the last possible nanosecond Peter reaches out to his right and behind him, snatching the real Beck’s wrist just as he pulls the trigger to the handgun that had been mere inches from his skull. Peter forces Beck to drop the weapon, and he deftly grabs it out of the air with his left hand, turning his body and aiming the barrel straight between Beck’s eyes.  _

_ “Oh look who found a gun,” the illusion Beck from the before was now standing beside Peter, hissing in his ear. “Are you going to use it like I did, Peter? _

_ “I don’t think he can,” suddenly, an illusion Mysterio appeared out of thin air, his glass dome a swirling raging storm as he hovered on Peters other side. “He’s just a  _ child, _ he doesn’t have the guts to do what it takes.” _

_ “You’re wrong,” Peter spat between his teeth as he cocked the gun, steadying it in both of his hands. It suddenly felt so heavy.  _

_ “Just put a bullet in my head, kid,” Peter felt two hands grip his shoulders from behind, fingers digging into his skin. “Don’t be sentimental about this, it’ll only be my blood on your hands.” _

_ Peter turned his head to find the newest illusion to be the Quentin he nearly killed in his own apartment. He had a steady drip of blood falling from his hairline, his shoulders askew, and sickly purple bruises had blossomed in a ring around his neck.  _

_ “Don’t you wonder what it would sound like? What it would  _ feel  _ like?” The first illusion Beck asked, licking the fresh blood from his lips, moving closer to adjust Peters aim on the Beck.  _

_ “It isn’t in his blood,” the Illusion Mysterio retorted, the dull sunlight reflecting off of his armor as he folded his arms across his chest. “He knows how to end this. But for him, it’s never going to end.” _

_ “It’ll be simple, Peter,” illusion Quentin whispered. reassuring him. He put his hands over Peter's arms, helping to hold the gun steady. “I want to be the reason why there’s a killer in you.” _

_ Peter locked eyes with the real Quentin Beck in front of him, the look of indignant surprise at having been caught still obvious on his face. “Just look at the mess I’ve made, Peter Parker. I hope you have fun cleaning it all up after I’m gone.” _

_ Then three illusions converged on Peter, each one taunting him, their voices overlapping into a symphony of chaos from every direction. He wanted them to stop, his mind couldn’t take much more. _

_ “Take me out,” the illusion Quentin from behind him whispered in his ear, his familiar voice standing out among the yelling of the others. “Blow away the real one, and the demons should disappear too…” _

_ “STOP!” Peter shut his eyes and yelled , the suffocating pressure being too much as his finger squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gun going off again left a ringing in Peters ears. Then silence.  _

_ When he opened his eyes, he was alone again. The illusions had disappeared like they said they would. But laying before him was the real Quentin Beck. Peter heard the gun clatter to the floor without realizing he dropped it, his whole body numb m with the realization of what he did.  _

_ Quentin Beck was dead.  _

_ Peter dropped to his knees, regret threatening to crush him against the floor. He put his hand on Quentin’s ankle, his body still radiating heat through his suit. The silence around him was now deafening, his eardrums felt like they were on the verge of collapse, as if he was being dragged too fast and too deep into the ocean.  _

_ This was worse. Stuck alone forever with only his own thoughts and Quentin Beck dead, taken from him forever by his own hand.  _

_ The all too familiar sense of the world breaking down around him was setting off his senses. He knew he needed to do  _ something,  _ but all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut as he clutched onto Quentin’s lifeless body. _

_ “Quentin please,” Peter whispered, he was gasping for air as his chest threatened to collapse in on itself. “Please don’t be dead, not again, I can’t-” _

_ Peter choked on his next words, the sob caught in his throat feeling as if it was suffocating him.  _

_ -He starting hearing something, someone calling out to him. Peter couldn’t be sure if he was going crazy or if the Beck ghosts had come back, all he knew was that the invisible band around his body was getting tighter- _

“Peter! Wake up,”

_ Peter shook his head, afraid to listen to the phantom voice that was calling out to him so forcefully- _

“Please Peter! Come on kid, I’m begging you!”

_ He felt himself shake violently, it startled him enough that he popped his eyes open and- _

_ “Quen- _ Quentin?” Peter managed to stutter out.  _ How was he here? Wasn’t he dead? Didn’t I kill him? _

“Kid are you alright?” Quentin’s face was just inches away from his, Peter saw tears threatening to spill over from his usually clear blue eyes. His big hands were framing his face, trying to hold him steady. 

Another sob racked Peters body, and Quentin’s eyes grew even larger with concern. He started to wipe the tears trailing down Peter's face with his thumbs, hushing him gently. “Please, Peter, what do you need? How can I help?”

“A-are you really here?” Peter whispered out, ready for this illusion to break and for his empty reality to take hold. “Are you  _ real?” _

Quentin inhaled sharply, shock flashing across his face. “Of course I’m real Peter, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re always just one of your illusions,” He answered, his voice shaking with each word. “You’re never real when I wake up.”

Quentin pulled back, his expression going slack. Peter held his breath, this is when the illusion would turn on him or shatter or disappear, leaving him alone in his dark mind once again. Then Quentin did something he’s never done in his nightmares before. 

The man wrapped his arms around Peter, pulling him against his chest and onto his lap. One hand buried itself into Peter's hair, holding his head against his neck.”

“Peter  _ I’m sorry,”  _ Quentin voice broke on the last word. “I'm so so  _ sorry.  _ This is all my fault-”

Peter pulled back enough to look at Quentin. In all of his nightmares he’d never seen the man so defeated before. He’d never said he was  _ sorry _ before, never in his dreams and never in reality. Peter dared to put a hand on his cheek, his beard feeling too real under his touch, praying the illusion wouldn’t break, that it would stay long enough for him to take one more bold risk. 

“I did this to you, didn't I.” Quentin kept his eyes closed, he wasn’t asking Peter, just confirming the truth. “I broke you, that why you’ve been falling apart and  _ Christ _ -I’m sorry, _ I’m sorry- _ ”

Peter quieted him by forcing his face to turn towards him. Quentin’s eyes opened, now rimmed red and watery with held back tears. This was the exact reason why Peter hadn’t told him in real life about his terrors, he never wanted to see Quentin suffer even a fraction of the amount that he had.

Before this illusion could start speaking again, Peter pulled his face to his, and kissed him softly. The man immediately stiffened beneath him, but Peter placed his other hand on Quentin’s neck, softly petting at the delicate spot where he’d once tried to squeeze the life out of him. 

Quentin’s tense body immediately began to loosen, and Peter carried on, inexperienced but following his instincts. It only took a few long seconds for Quentin to start kissing him back, making Peters heart ache, knowing he’s going to wake up alone and still remember this. 

When Quentin’s mouth parts and he whispers Peter’s name, he shutters and clings closer, biting down as gently as he can on the man's lower lip. That earns him a shiver from Quentin, his large hands traveling up his back and into his hair. 

Peter knows he shouldn’t push this fantasy any further, when it falls apart it’s going to make his recovery that much more painful, but he can’t stop himself from running his tongue along Quentin’s top lip. He’s rewarded with Quentin’s tongue meeting his own, and the energy between them is almost too much for Peter’s already hypersensitive senses. 

Without thinking about it, Peter tangles his hands in Quentin’s hair, still wanting to somehow pull Quentin even closer than he already is. The man responds by putting a hand on his lower back, pulling their torsos together. And when Quentin’s teeth graze along his tongue, Peter is surprised by the low, carnal moan that escapes him. 

Quentin is apparently surprised too, as he pulls back, his cheeks flushed and his pupils blown wide in his bright eyes. He takes a few deep breaths as his eyes search over Peter's face. 

“We shouldn’t do this now Peter,” Quentin says quietly, but his arms curl around him and hold him close. 

Peter’s heart drops, the illusion must finally be taking the turn down the darker roads it usually travels. He wraps his arms tightly around Quentin’s neck, unprepared for what he’s going to be put through by his sick mind next. 

“You’re exhausted, you need to sleep, my prince,” Quentin whispered. “You can’t keep this up.”

And Peter was completely drained, his moment of spontaneity used up the last of his reserves, and he was essentially collapsed onto Quentin, all the fight gone for any defense he needed to put up. He felt Quentin readjust his grip as he held Peter, swiftly standing up and carrying Peter into darkness. 

“Please don’t leave me again,” Peter managed to whisper, hoping whatever awaited him next wouldn't be terrible enough to make him forget this one fantasy, before passing out in his dreams arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kiss!! Finally!!! Oof I never thought I’d get us here but I did!! Sorry ??? for the extra long chapter, but I couldn’t leave you all on a cliff hanger without that moment <3 but believe you me I feel BAD about poor peter thinking that it was all a dream leading up to something worse... eventually he’ll get a break.
> 
> Maybe.
> 
> As always nice comments and questions are always appreciated! Thank you so much for sticking around and tuned for ch12 because, well, the boy has to wake up sometime >;3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay friends, I do apologize for ghosting this fic-I’ve been an “”essential worker”” during all this, working two jobs, and well-just basically as stressy and depressy as anyone else during this pandemic. This is a short chapter, but hopefully will hold all yall over while I sort out the last couple chapters. As always I encourage positive comments and discussions once you read through it <3

Something was  _ off. _

Peter's head was aching dully as he slowly dragged his mind out of sleep. He’d clearly been out cold, as his brain was taking ten times longer than it should to make sense of his thoughts. But as his senses began to process his surroundings he instantly realized what was wrong: he wasn’t waking up alone. 

Even though this wasn't the first time he’d woken up being held, it had been ages since the last time it happened. In the weeks following the incidents in Europe, May had wrapped Peter up in her arms more than once when yells from his nightmares had woken her and she’d found Peter breaking down. He’d admired her love for him in those moments, he could’ve easily accidentally lashed out against her in fear and confusion and hurt her, but she’d never thought twice about being there for him. 

But without opening his eyes, Peter knew this wasn’t May. He felt heavy arms wrapped around him, and his face was buried in the folds of a soft shirt against a warm, wide chest. He inhaled deeply, recognizing the faint scent of warm clove and aged leather books. The scent he’d come to recognize with Quentin Beck. 

Peter surprised himself by  _ smiling _ into that chest. He probably should be panicking over how he was somehow waking up pinned against the man, but instead he only felt oddly content. He only wanted to fall back asleep, staying wrapped up and warm with Quentin, and not try to remember the circumstances of how they ended up here. Memories of pain and violence were already beginning to drip into his conscious, and they were the last thing Peter wanted to think about. He pressed his eyes shut even tighter, his hands twisting into fists around the shirt he clung to as he tried to fight off last night's dreams. 

The bridge, the illusion Becks, the endless taunting and jeering to turn Peter against his own heart, then inevitably shooting Quentin and the physically crushing silence the act brought with it. That had been one of Peter's worst terrors he’d had thus far, and he feared it might turn into a recurring one… but that doesn’t answer how he got  _ here.  _

As Peter recounted the last moments of his nightmare, he began to recall opening his eyes to Quentin’s face. That had happened before in dreams, but unlike the other instances, this Quentin was panicked, desperate even, to help Peter. He had begun to break down as he realized what he’d done to Peter, and now as he remembered the tears that threatened to spill down the man's cheeks, it made Peter’s heart feel as if it was being squeezed from his chest. The last thing he’d ever wanted to do is hurt Quentin in any way ever again. 

But now… memories of their lips pressed together, Peter’s hands in Quentin’s hair, and Quentin pulling them close together began to shine brightly against the darker recollections. 

Peter felt the hand that was cradling his head slowly bury fingers deeper into Peter's hair, which he took as a sign that Quentin knew he was awake. He contemplated feigning sleep for a little longer, but figured Quentin was smart enough to to see through that. He tilted his head up and back into the man's hand, blinking open his eyes against the bright morning sunlight, and gazed up at Quentin, bracing himself for whatever reaction was coming. 

“Good morning, Peter,” Quentin whispered softly, giving him a small smile from across the pillow they shared. He looked tired, there were shadows under his red rimmed eyes, but the smile he gave Peter looked genuine. Hope began to beat in Peter's nervous heart,  _ maybe last night was real? _

Quentin lifted the arm that was wrapped over him to push Peter’s curls off his forehead. “Did you sleep alright? You still look exhausted,”

It took Peter a moment to find his voice, shock at finding himself waking up next to a smiling Quentin seemed to affect his vocal chords. 

“Quen… are you-was-was last night  _ real?”  _ Peter whispered, his voice slightly shaking with disbelief. 

“I’m very real, Peter,” Quentin’s voice was warm and soft as he gently framed Peter's face with his hand, the small acting solidifying the reality. The tension in his body begins to dissipate as Peter almost reluctantly accepts this isn’t another nightmare. “As for last night, everything that happened after I woke you, that was also very real.”

Peter could feel his eyes widen as he stared back at Quentin’s sympathetic face. The recollection of Quentin whispering Peter’s name against his lips sparked a small flame in his chest. The light of hope began to burn brighter now that Quentin confirmed what happened. But that light was almost immediately dimmed by the thought that rose next in Peter's mind. 

_ But was it a mistake?  _ Peter thought, his heart stinging already at the rejection he knew must be coming. 

“Though,” Quentin started, his brows furrowing together. “We should be talking about what happened before you woke up.”

Quentin’s hand moved to Peter's neck, his thumb caressing the edge of his jaw, the man’s eyes never breaking contact. “How long has this been going on? These nightmares? Since I came back?  _ Since London?” _

Peter dropped his gaze, shame at showing his weakness to Quentin bubbles within himself. He didn’t need this man constantly worried about his mental state, and he tried to filter through one of the many excuses and stories he had fed to May in the past. 

“Peter,” the seriousness in his voice was so sharp Peter couldn’t help snapping his gaze back up to meet Quentin’s. Those blue eyes were only focused on Peter, as if they were trying to see through him for an answer. “You can’t keep hiding this from me. I want to help you, but you have to be honest with me.”

Quentin’s gaze was so intense, Peter couldn’t look away no matter how desperately his embarrassment tried to. Peter was supposed to be strong, a hero and a protector. How could he continue to be that for the world if he couldn’t be that for himself? But now here was Quentin, this man that his heart has latched onto against all reason, who had already told him he’d come back and risked everything to help Peter. 

_ This is what he came back from the dead to do,  _ Peter thought. 

Then he paused. The memory of him seeing his own face on Quentin’s palm sized projector that night he’d gotten it working suddenly stood out in his head.  _ Why was it my face? _

“You came back to help me,” he stated, raising a shaking hand away from Quentin’s chest and cautiously placed it on his cheek. Peter watched in wonder as Quentin closed his eyes slowly in response, a quiet sigh leaving his parted lips. 

“Was that all you came back for, Quentin?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Quentin huffed out, his eyes still closed but his eyebrows drawing together, lips drawing down in a frown. 

“You… you kissed me back, last night,” Peter retorted, struggling to recount the memories he’s not sure if Quentin regrets, yet desperately needing answers. “You said that was real. But,  _ why did you do it?” _

“Do you really want to do this now, after the night you had?” Quentin asked, opening his eyes to give Peter a concerned look. But he nodded firmly, he’d deal with this truth first, his night terrors weren’t going anywhere. After a pause, Quentin wrapped both arms around Peter's torso and pulled him firmly against his chest. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Quentin stated gently, and before Peter could react to those words he felt Quentin’s lips against the top of his head. “It’s been years since I felt a real connection with anyone, and the pull I felt towards you in Venice was completely unexpected, and it only got worse after London. I thought it was the guilt of what I had done to you that kept driving me here… I convinced myself that my conscience would finally be clear if I could just get your life back to whatever you considered normal again, and I could leave and go back to being dead or taking back what was mine or  _ anything else. _ ”

Quentin sighed again, this time with the weight of heavy frustration ringing in the act. “I wasn’t  _ supposed _ to fall in love with you. I was  _ supposed _ to fix what I had done and leave, but apparently you keep thwarting all my plans, Peter Parker. “

It was a lot for Peter to process, mostly because he hadn’t expected to hear any of that at all. Then hitting him a minute later like a ton of bricks was one specific sentence. 

_ “You fell in love with me?”  _ Peter was terrified at the hope he heard in his wavering words. He must’ve misheard Quentin, or he was about to be thrown out, or or something _ -anything- _ except Peter’s most ridiculous fantasy suddenly being real. Men like Quentin would never fall in love someone like Peter. 

“Peter,” Quentin chuckles gently against Peter’s forehead before pulling back to look at him. “Of course I did. You think I was letting you barge into my home and hang out whenever you wanted out of the goodness of my heart? Come on, Pete, I’m not that good of a guy.”

“No no, you’re a good guy,” Peter replies awkwardly, flushing under Quentin’s gaze. 

Quentin gave Peter a curious look at that statement, his smirk falling a degree. After a pause he sat up against the headboard, pulling Peter with him. His eyebrows pulled together as he curled one hand tighter around Peter's waist. 

“This is why this wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m  _ not  _ a good guy Peter. Especially not for you-”

“Quentin stop,” Peter interrupted, his hands fluttering across his chest wanting to stop Quentin from talking himself out of liking him but also not sure where any physical boundaries started now. “Please, don't-don’t keep putting yourself down. I’ve already been through this in my head, and-um-I started to, uh-”

“What have you been through already, beautiful?” Quentin stopped Peter’s stuttering with a soft smile and a hand on his cheek. 

“I just,” he leaned his head into Quentin’s hand, closing his eyes, enjoying the heat radiating from his palm. “I’m done with everyone else deciding what’s good for me. I’d like to choose for once what I want.”

When he opened his eyes, Quentin was giving him a pitying look. Great. He was just the sad kid everyone saw all over again. That’s all Quentin was ever going to see. 

“I should go,” he said abruptly, turning away from the man, one foot already out of the bed to leap from the window, embarrassed and needing to be anywhere but there. 

“Hey slow down kid, where do you think you’re going?” Quentin held onto his forearm firmly before he could get anywhere. “See this is what I was talking about, why I’m not any  _ good.” _

Peter hesitated, knowing he could more than easily wrench his arm from Quentin’s grip… but he wanted to hear him explain himself. 

“If I was any good, I’d kick you out,” Quentin’s fingers trailed along Peter's wrist now, so softly it made him shiver. “I’d make you leave then I would disappear forever, letting you live your life and find someone who could really love you, unselfishly and whole. But instead I’ve taken advantage of every minute you’ve given me with no plans to stop.”

Peter really didn’t think his face could go much more red, but he was positive he must be positively glowing right now. Part of his mind was utterly delighted to hear that Quentin wanted  _ him,  _ and that he didn’t have to leave. But the other part of it couldn’t ignore the pessimistic hesitation, that Quented sounded like he was one reason away from dropping out of Peter’s life again. Running through what Quentin had just again in his head, he let out a manic chuckle. 

“Something funny, kid?”

“Yeah, the irony here is killing me,” he started with another awkward laugh. “The whole reason why I came over last night was to say goodbye to you before  _ I  _ disappeared forever. I was going to see if I could get moved out west or something, somewhere where I couldn’t sneak off to find you again.”

Quentin’s amused confusion quickly turned to concern, his lips turning down as he let out a sigh. 

“That would’ve been the smartest thing you could’ve done,” he said quietly, Peter thought he sounded pained admitting it. “Though, I actually grew up on the west coast. California, in fact. With your luck I might’ve unintentionally followed you out there.”

Quentin trailed off with a forced laugh, his blue eyes showing hesitation and uncertainty as he held Peter's gaze. 

“Here, why don’t we get up, continue this while we get some food in you, you look like you haven’t eaten in the past two weeks Pete,” as the man made to turn towards the edge of the bed, Peter was sudden grabbing out onto Quentin’s shirt, suddenly fearing the moment would dissolve into nothingness if they parted. “Hey, there’s no reason to panic, alright? I just don’t want you passing out from exhaustion on me. I worry about you, Peter.”

Quentin pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead as he wound his large hand around his wrists to gently pull them off his chest. Peter stayed in place as he watched the man slide off the bed to stand on the floor and stretch catlike in the morning sunlight that was streaming in through his window, illuminating every line and curve. It was an image Peter never wanted to forget. 

Quentin caught Peter's eye as he watched, giving him a crooked smile while holding out a hand towards him. “What’re you waiting for, kid? I promise not to disappear on you, if you don’t disappear on me, okay?”

Peter couldn’t help the dumb grin that broke out on his face hearing those words. He was still filled with doubt, the universe had thus far refused to let him hold on to any good thing for very long, but Peter couldn’t help but cling to that optimistic ray of hope that  _ maybe  _ this time would be different...

  
  



End file.
